


Summer Vacation

by DMichelleWrites



Series: Hiatus Drabbles [4]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Adoption, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Canon Disabled Character, Cunnilingus, Disabled Sex, F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Married Life, Married Sex, Missionary Position, Oral Sex, Original Character(s), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pregnant Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-04
Updated: 2017-10-10
Packaged: 2018-11-08 05:11:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 61,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11074743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DMichelleWrites/pseuds/DMichelleWrites
Summary: Oliver and Felicity actually have some time off from Team Arrow business. It’s everything Oliver has ever wanted from quiet date nights to trips back home and more. The Queens, their friends, and family have a fantastic summer vacation after escaping Lian Yu.





	1. Krasivaya (Beautiful)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt 2:** Eye contact

Soft light bathes each eatery in Star City's promenade. Felicity touches up a coat of her red lipstick, mouth ticking up in a minute smile as Oliver gets her wheelchair out of the truck. Her passenger door opens to her awaiting husband with a boyish grin on his face. He'd been waiting for a night out in over three months. In the time since they've escaped the Hellish island of Lian Yu. To say to things have changed would be a gross understatement. The bomb blast tampered with Felicity's biostimulant chip, rendering the life-altering tech completely useless. It's going to take Curtis quite some time to fix. Also, after an extraction surgery, Felicity took the liberty of proposing to Oliver herself from the hospital bed. Just about two weeks later, Oliver and Felicity were married at City Hall with a grander ceremony planned in December when Donna can fly in from Vegas. Felicity has been so stressed about starting up her tech conglomerate, Smoak Tech that Oliver thinks it's time for a nice evening out on the town.

"Milady." Oliver greets, lifting his wife carefully into her own wheelchair.

She obliges, smoothing out the hem of her coral dress, "Thank you, but I could've done that myself."

"Felicity, Honey, I was just trying to help."

"I know. I know. It's just going to take some readjusting. That's all."

"You're right," He apologies, pressing a chaste smooch atop her head, "I'm sorry."

Pushing her chair towards the hostess stand, Felicity huffs, "Thank you."

"Queen, party of two." Her husband says, addressing the maître d'.

Fetching menus, the young man directs, "Right this way, sir, madame."

A little French bistro by the name of Chez Marta is the new hot spot in Star City. The wait list for a reservation is endless, although when it comes to a respected mayor and his brilliant wife who happens to own an upcoming Fortune 500 company, business owners know better than to deny the First Couple of this beloved city. Unfortunately, Oliver and Felicity's pull doesn't surpass POTUS. Madame President Olivia Marsdin, her husband Roger, Queen of all media - Cat Grant - Lena Luther, and Winn Schott are all dining in the private party section, away from prying eyes and lens of ravenous paparazzi. That leaves Oliver and Felicity with a lovely center table nearest the floor-to-ceiling windows. The duo ventures through a maze of tables. Felicity barely has enough room to squeeze in between chairs. When the Queens enter the dining area, it's as if they're celebrities. Some onlookers can't help, but stare. Others narrowly avoid eye contact, and then there's a group of bourgeois wine moms, who whisper derogatory lies like "trophy wife" and "charity case" Annoyance ignites under Felicity's skin. However, she manages to keep her emotions in check for the most part. 

"Oh, look. People are staring." Felicity mutters through clenched teeth, lips painting a forced smile, "How unusual for us, my love?" 

Squatting down to her level, Oliver complements, "Let them. You look beautiful."

"My apologies, Mr. Mayor, Mrs. Queen. With the President's impromptu visit, this is the last table we have available." Their maître d' worries, "Is it to your liking, or would you like...?"

A stomach rumble answers for Felicity, though she also swears, "It'll do just fine." 

"Alright then," the brunette responds dutifully, pulling out a chair for Felicity, "Our sommelier should be at your table shortly to share our list of drinks. If you two lovebirds need anything at all, please don't hesitate to ask. My name is Rob."

"Thank you," his customer acknowledges. Rob leaves their table, and wandering eyes linger on them like fish at an aquarium. Felicity's azure eyes narrow in frustration. Upon seeing this, Oliver interlaces their fingertips across the small and intimate table, "Ignore them."

"Easier said than done, Oliver."

"Honey, come on."

She snaps, squeezing his hand tighter than intended "Don't you 'Honey' me right now, Queen. Frack! It's like people have never seen a wheelchair before."

"People can be assholes. I get that, but it's gorgeous out, and our first night out in a long time. Besides, you've been wanting to go to Chez Marta for months now. What I'm saying is..."

His wife finishes, cutely pecking his knuckles, "Don't let idiots spoil our date night."

"Uh-huh," her husband nods, tucking a loose curl behind her ear. "Hmm, you have a little something right there."

Oliver makes a misshapen gesture around his wife's mouth. She can't help, but chuckle at that. It is one of the oldest and cheesiest moves in the book. Despite her husband's weak attempt at flirting, Felicity leans in first. Oliver meets her halfway, candlelight accentuating the happiness written all over their faces. Their lips meld together in a series of short pecks before their sweet display of affection grows much hotter, and it certainly doesn't have to do with candles. Her supple palms contrast his prickly stubble. His hand grips her shoulder, this short of pulling her over the table into his lap. Clearly, for a brief moment, the pair has forgotten they are in public. A French restaurant won't allow for French kissing. Thankfully, a sommelier interrupts the duo with a rather loud clear of his throat.

In a thick Parisian accent, the sommelier recites, "May I offer you two something to drink? Our extensive list of wines includes..."

"Malbec 1984," Felicity orders, not even bothering to hear the in-house list, eyes flickering over to Oliver, "Sound good to you?"

He concurs, rubbing his thumb over her wedding band, "Always."

Apart from a bottle of Lafite Rothschild 1982, which would make their bill skyrocket into quadruple digits, Malbec is their second favorite red. It's wine they drank over many trips around the world, date nights in, and before occasional bunker sex. But more importantly, it's the wine they first had together as husband and wife. For a fancy French bistro, food portions aren't microscopic. Thank God, because Felicity absolutely detests atomic-sized plates. The couple begins with two hearty bowls of squash soup for an appetizer course. Felicity then opts for stuffed fera — a fish on cedar wood stuffed with fresh herbs, vegetables, and spices. Oliver prefers an herb crusted leg of lamb. Utensils clink against empty plates, and these delicious meals are perfect partners to their favorite wine.

Patting her belly, Felicity groans, "Oh, I couldn't possibly eat another bite."

"Okay, I've got my eyes on a chocolate souffle unless you want to go home now."

"No, no, Hon, you go ahead. I know how much you love souffles."

"Thank you."

Felicity absentmindedly caresses her belly while her husband awaits his beloved dessert, and Oliver's not much of a sweets kind of guy. But souffles have a special place in his heart. The very first one he made was with Raisa when his mom told him he was going to be a big brother. He rubs his hands together like a little boy on Christmas morning at the sight of a ramekin and airy chocolate morsel. Amidst romantic and classical violin accompaniment, Felicity picks up on the same rude and nagging whispers from those bitchy wine moms, who are now blatantly checking out her husband. Felicity tries to ignore it as she and Oliver both pay the bill.

His wife insists with an eye roll, "Can we please go home now?"

"Mm-hm." Oliver agrees, draping his gray suit jacket over her shoulders. They near the door just a ways away from the wine moms' table. Dropping to his knees, he mentions in a low tone, "You want to give 'em something to stare at?"

"What are you...?"

The rest of her question is cut off by her husband's lips. Their mouths reconvene in a very public, languid kiss. His hands settle on her brakes, making sure the childish women get an obvious flash of his wedding ring. Also, it helps Felicity stay put. Yes, this smooch is a definite way to brag about their happy marriage, but when people are being ignorant and just plain mean, why not? Also, they smooch simply because they can. Oliver and Felicity have no trouble with that now. This one kiss leaves Felicity gasping for breath, but smirking as well when Oliver follows it up with a nose nuzzle and soft peck like decadent whipped cream atop a souffle. She rubs Oliver's back with a cutesy wave, bidding a sassy goodbye to the group of women who appear to be frozen in days of high school. Well, that and some major botched botox jobs. Felicity is surprised their faces even move. Their blissful date night and small victory are short-lived when the First Couple of Star City is greeted by a slew of sleazy photogs, looking for their so-called money shot. They even go out the back entrance, although it does nothing to deter pushy vermin with blinding camera flashes. Felicity hates when people talk about her scars. Luckily, they make it safely to their truck.

"Are you okay?"

Staring out of the windshield, she retorts, "Are you?"

"Yeah, but I think we should talk when we get home."

Felicity scoffs, "Of course you do."

"Please," Oliver persists, reaching for her hand across the center console.

When they arrive home, romance soon muddles into their typical nightly routine. The Queens change into their pajamas while Felicity discusses how she's so sick and tired of being stared at like a person with two heads, getting feigned sympathy, and being treated differently at work. Oliver listens, chiming in every now and again. Though, his unsolicited advice about Felicity asserting herself more doesn't help, especially when they're changing and cleaning out her intermittent catheter for the night. Not the most glamorous parts of their marriage, but it has to be done. Fluids slosh, and Felicity cuts through awkward tension between them.

She notes, a tiny smile creasing her lips, "I guess I pee a lot when pissed off."

The blue rubber gloves come off with a smack, and her husband reminds, "You don't have to be funny for me. You know that, right?"

"I know. It's just that sometimes with the way things are now, it's difficult for me to see who I really am anymore. "

"I still see you for the amazing, beautiful, bright, funny, and sexy woman that you are, Felicity. Things are okay, and they're going to get even better. It's just going to take some, but, God forbid, relax."

"Ha!" She snorts, quipping, "Pot calling kettle black."

"Honey, I'm being serious here." He suggests, disappearing into their bathroom, only to return with a lavender bottle of body lotion,"I know the perfect way to get you to relax."

"Fine." His wife warns. "But no funny business, Oliver."

"Hey." Her husband replies, bare feet padding over to her side of the bed, "I make no promises, Babe."

When a nightcap is involved, Felicity’s go-to excuse is,”Oh, it’ll be fine. Let’s just go to bed and spoon naked.” Whereas, Oliver’s approach is much more subtle with “Baby, let me help you relax. I’ll give you a massage.” As soon as Felicity secures a bag for the catheter to her leg, they both know where they’re headed next. Moments like these don’t make her feel desirable at all. In fact, it’s extremely embarrassing. However, they both understand it’s necessary. Her cheeks flush, teeth digging in her lower lip. They’ve done this before a few months after she became paralyzed the first time. Intimacy has to be different for them, but by no means is their sex life bad.

His finger gently swipes over that bottom lip, and he kisses away any doubt in her racing mind. Her hands slide up over his scarred bare chest, caressing his coarse skin in a reverent, healing touch. She wants to pull him back down onto their bed. Though, Oliver seems to have something else planned for tonight. He gathers her into his arms, and they sit together at the edge of their bed. Oliver kneads her shoulders and back briefly just as he’s promised. Her eyes fall shut at the sensation. Suddenly, a breeze ghosts over bits of exposed skin, where her husband was sitting mere seconds ago. Oliver now stands in front of Felicity.

Hands sweetly bracketing her face, he hopes, “I want to try something.”

“Okay,” she whispers huskily in anticipation.

On that note, Oliver turns Felicity around, her back facing him. With baited breath, she holds tight to their maroon comforter. His mouth quickly replaces his hands, pillowy lips descending from her neck to the column of her spine. He tugs on the spaghetti straps of her pale blue nightgown, revealing more of her creamy skin adorned with a few adorable freckles. Oliver’s stubble rasps at her skin, paying extra attention to her own scars when he sinks further onto the carpeted floor. Wounds and multiple surgeries he wishes she never had to endure. However, none of that matters now because in this very moment, Oliver wants to make her feel like the sexiest woman on the face of this Earth. He does just that by whispering sweet nothings in a mix of Russian and English — a definite turn-on for her. A shudder wracks her body, though not due to air seeping in from the window, which is left open just a crack.

Oliver nibbles on Felicity’s earlobe, uttering in an intimate voice reserved only for her,  “Krasivaya.”

“Mm,” Felicity whimpers, neck craning up, Uh, what does that mean exactly?”

“Beautiful because you’re so beautiful, amazing, and everything to me. I just…”

Taking the words out of his mouth, she falls back against their heavy down comforter, “I want you.”

His mitigated gaze soaks in her half naked body, and with a 'come hither' finger wag, his body blankets hers. But Oliver is mindful of her needs, staying propped up on his forearms before he kisses her like a man dying of thirst in the Sahara desert. It’s a ravenous frenzy of wet lips, gnashing teeth, and tangled tongues. Unfortunately, the stupid need for oxygen becomes too great, and they reluctantly pull away. Their eyes meet, never breaking contact. That is until Oliver purposefully pauses the frenzy, kissing her softly and scooping Felicity into his arms as if she weighs absolutely nothing. She takes a moment’s respite against a sea of pillows. Oliver yanks down his wife’s nightgown.

His tone laden with desire, licking his lips, “You’re so fucking sexy.”

Cliché, but true. Plus dirty talk is one way that compensates for what she can’t feel. Though, Oliver soon focuses on what she can sense. His mouth roots around until he finds a dusky pink nipple, ardently sucking on it while his palm envelopes her other breast. His hand mimics that same perfect pressure. She cups the back of his head, fingertips threading through his hair before it becomes too much. A welcomed familiar heat rises throughout her body.

“ _Oh_."Felicity pants, praying she hasn’t ripped out some of her husband’s hair, “Damn it.”

Concern washing over his features, Oliver wonders, “Honey, did I…?”

The possibility alone that he could hurt her is vile.

“I’m fine, Oliver.”

He shoots her a look just in case.

“I promise.”

“Alright.”

Having done this before, Felicity suggests, “Couch?”

Oliver carries Felicity over to a little navy loveseat. Ensconced in darkness and wrapped up in nothing but each other, they've been taking their sweet time since the home. He wraps her legs around his waist, hands drifting up to where she can really feel them. When Oliver grazes the thick band of her injuries, unbidden moans escape Felicity's lips.

"Don't stop." She pleads, breath tickling his neck as he gently nips at her pulse point.

He doesn't until a confident hand slips down the mangled and muscular ridges of his torso. Felicity strokes Oliver through his boxers. Growls and a string of curse words rumble deeply from his throat. She frees his cock ever so slightly, moving from tip to base at a mind numbing rhythm. He’s long, thick, and hard in her small palm. If Felicity doesn't stop, Oliver's going to break much too soon.

"Felicity."

The single utterance of her name is wanton, desperate, begging before he reaches his end. Oliver grips her wrist, removing her hand from his dick. With a parting kiss, Oliver stands on leaden legs. Taking a deep breath, he steps out of his old gray boxers. So unabashed in his nudity, he fishes for a bottle of lube tucked away in his nightstand. Her smile is positively adorable, but Felicity’s body is pure sin. The sounds she made earlier only spur him on, craving that raw connection like blood pumping through his veins. Not yet though, Oliver and Felicity have learned to take things slow — otherwise their “other nightly activities” as Felicity likes to call them may be somewhat painful.

“Oliver, get over here.”

Her tone is a cocktail of amusement and need ringing in her voice.  He crosses the short distance between them. Oliver pulls Felicity into his lap, holding her hips aloft. They each warm an ample dollop of lubricant in their hands. He thrusts his fingers in just as she pumps his dick, damn near synchronizing their staccato rhythms. Their eyes threaten to close,  breaths dancing over each others’ faces. But there’s something about watching each other that definitely drive both Oliver and Felicity crazy. They discover new things about one another like how he licks his lips before kissing her or how her nails rake over his back. It doesn’t feel the same for Felicity — not by a longshot. At most, her body temperature rises, and when he’s deep-seated inside her a dull pressure. She’s not supposed to be able to feel certain sensations, yet her memories - their memories - making love to Oliver feel incredible in different ways.

Right as Oliver’s on the precipice, he grits, “Can I…?”

“Yeah,” Felicity exhales, clinging tightly to his broad shoulders.

He positions himself at her entrance, gripping her hips once more.  He pushes in, guiding her down. It’s a gentle, easy pace at first, although she’s warm and tight. Her walls pulse around him, sparking their combined pleasure. Skin slaps against skin as they lose all sense of rhythm. Her nails dig into his back. Oliver comes with a heavy shout, spilling into her in long, hot spurts. Their torsos stick together with sweat. The breeze from their window all but forgotten. It’s just them as it should be.

“Sorry, I didn’t…” Oliver apologizes, eyes shining with a glimmer of regret.

Felicity interrupts, “Stop. Don’t ruin this for us. It was perfect.”

“Yeah, you’re right.”

Fingertips splaying out over his scar where his Bratva tattoo once remained, she jokes, “So talk about a happy ending.”

Planting a gentle smooch on her forehead, they clean up and retire to their bed. To say this road is easy would be lying, but Oliver and Felicity would get through this together. 


	2. The Baby Wants It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt 1:** Summer Vacation inspired by _Father of the Bride 2_ when Annie and her mom are both pregnant.

Sliding doors grant Oliver, William, and Samantha’s fiancé Christopher access to one of the largest supermarkets in Star City. There’s no way they could mess up the ladies’ requests now, although pregnancy hormones are something Felicity would refer to as somewhat of a Jedi mind trick. Yes, even Oliver knows that reference.

Breaking an awkward silence between them, Christopher chuckles, “You know how that lady at the park thought we were both William’s dads.”

“Oh no,” William groans, palming his face.

Tempering his anger in front of Will, Oliver notes, “See, now? You’re speaking of it again. We had an agreement, man.”

The preteen chimes in “Besides, that lady was way off…”

“William Connor Clayton, it’s the twenty-first century. There are all different kinds of families. People can love whoever they want.”

“I know. I know, Dad.” His son waves off, grinning broadly, “You’re way out of Christopher’s league.”

At that admission, a laugh sneaks out of Oliver’s mouth — almost as if he’s surprised to be doing so.

Ruffling his boy’s hair with a clear of his throat, Oliver weakly chastises, “Bubba, that’s not very nice.”

“Sorry, Christopher.”

His stepfather-to-be offers a kind smile, “It’s okay, little man. I was going to say that isn’t the first time someone assumed I batted for the other team. After college, I was a spin and SoulCyle instructor just outside of Gotham, and well, I guess you had to be there.”

In truth, Christopher practically lifts right out of Team Arrow’s family. If he wasn’t Samantha’s fiancè and the head of Felicity’s IT department at Smoak Tech, Oliver doubts theyb would ever cross paths. However, Christopher is a really nice guy - sort of like the Caucasian version of Urkel with cooler pants - and he is good to William as well as Felicity. So that’s are exceklent factors in Oliver’s book. They stroll down an aisle, heading straight towards the Frozens section.

“Chocolate chip, not mint chip.” Oliver thinks to himself in a mantra, filing it away in his brain, “Chocolate chip, not mint chip.”

“Are you sure, dad?”

“Yes.”

Will tests, “And my mom wants flavor, Christopher?”

“Vanilla bean.”

Thankfully, the two expectant fathers check their cellphones before they buy anything. The only message is to pick up some extra rolls of paper towels. Still, Oliver and Christopher desperately hope they picked up the right ice cream. At the point in their pregnancies, Felicity and Samantha may consider another refrigerator for their cravings. The air conditioner is keeping them cool, although this waiting around is annoying as Hell.

Felicity’s yellow maternity blouse is sticking to her skin was sweat. Despite that, she gets up to walk - more like waddle - over to the window with a helping hand from Sam. Nothing but skies, green grass, sprinklers running, and an empty driveway.

“Damn…” Felicity grumbles, course-correcting as she caresses the swell of her belly, “Sorry, Tommy, darn it.”

“The park’s not that far.” Samantha says, perusing an old article from a colleague. “What did they go to a dairy farm to get it?”

Felicity giggles at that, envisioning the absurdity of her husband as he attempts to milk a sassy, but healthy cow. The boys decided earlier in the day to play some baseball at Starling Park. In actuality, Samantha and Felicity just wanted them out of the house for awhile, although sudden cravings for their favorite frozen dairy treat came over them. The blonde hacker retires to their black leather sofa with a _Wired_ magazine, shifting around when her son kicks strongly. The clock is ticking, but upon a telltale rattle of their front doorknob, Felicity and Samantha positively beam with excitement.

Will announces loudly, “Mom, we’re home!”

“I see that.” His mother observes, wondering, “How was the park?”

“Awesome. Something hilarious happened to Dad and Chris.”

“William,” His father cuts in, shooting him a stern look.

Felicity promises with a wink, “You can tell me and your mom later.”

“But first, ice cream for our two hungry mamas-to-be,” Christopher offers, revealing two small tubs of chocolate chip and vanilla bean.

Felicity’s teeth dig in her glossed lower lip, and Samantha’s mouth falls in a small frown.

Perplexed, Oliver inquires, “What is it?”

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” Christopher echoes.

Felicity answers, “This is Blue Bunny. You know I like Ben & Jerry’s.”

“You said Ben & Jerry’s makes you want to vomit right now.”

“Yeah, the mint chip flavor — not chocolate chip.”

“But…”

Putting Oliver’s hand to her stomach, his wife is adamant, “The baby wants it, my love.”

“Uh-huh, and I’m kind in the mood for brownie bites ice cream instead.” Samantha adds.

Christopher presses a fleeting smooch to his fiancé’s mouth, Of course.”

“Whatever you want, Baby.” Oliver obliges, planting a lingering kiss to Felicity’s belly and lips.

William utters under his breath, “Here we go again.”

The last three months of this summer vacation is going to be long, but they know it’ll all be worth it when William’s siblings Tommy and Gwen come into this world.


	3. Dessert

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt 3:** Taste

The Queens’ kitchen is aglow with light and laughter. Felicity and Lyla are at the stove, nursing two glasses of white wine. Wafting scents of hearty spiced chicken, root vegetables, and chocolate souffles engulf the space. A hand mixer whirs in a bowl, and Felicity observes a rather pale yellow texture as opposed to the sweet and decadent whipped cream she’s been attempting to make.

“Hey, Lyla, how do I know when the homemade whipped cream is done?”

Lyla replies, offering her friend a kind smile, “About two minutes before it looks like that. You’ve made butter, Felicity.”

Felicity’s mouth forms a small o, evidently disappointed in another failed culinary trial.

Squeezing her shoulder, the former soldier promises, “You’ll get there, but for now I have a backup plan, Queen.”

Lyla retrieves a perfectly light and airy whipped cream in the lower compartment of her friends’ refrigerator.

Sneaking a taste of the sweet topping, Felicity complements, “Thanks, Lyla. I owe you big time. I’m not up for another trip to the ER. I doubt Oliver thought getting his stomach pumped was fun.”

Though, it happens when one mistakes marijuana with fresh oregano leaves.

“How ‘bout you try to not hack into A.R.G.U.S. anymore?”

The blonde hacker quips confidently, “How ‘bout you get a better security system, Director Michaels?”

“Fair enough,” Lyla concedes, reminding, “The chicken cordon bleu needs another five minutes, but the parsnips and carrots probably need another fifteen in the roasting pan to cook down to a soft stew texture. And then dinner is served, madam. Oh, and remember to take dessert out before dinner.”

Standing up on her tip toes, Felicity nods, “Got it. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“It’s no trouble at all,” the brunette’s lips crease in a smile before she pulls her friend in for a hug.

She bids, “Say hi to John, Sara, and J.J. for me.”

The red front door falls shut, and Felicity watches the clock like ever-changing lines of codes of her computer screen. She pulls out the food just in time, letting it sit on their sandy brown quartz countertops. Plates and utensils clink nearby each course. Felicity’s phone buzzes with a text from her husband, mentioning he’s stuck in light traffic, but he should be home soon.

Her bare feet pad against the rich brown aged hardwood floor, ascending the stairs as if a villain is chasing her. Felicity heads straight for their joint walk-in closet, knowing Oliver would arrive home any minute now. She hastily strips out of her comfy STAR Labs sweatshirt and purple cat pajama bottoms. Her underwear is quick to follow. Felicity pilfers an item from Oliver’s side of their closet, thinking from her husband’s perspective this minimal ensemble would be easy on, easy off. She descends the stairs, precariously plating their dinner. Felicity rushes around so fast she nearly burns herself on two unscented tea candles, which she places at the center of a small round table. She pours herself a second glass of wine, grabbing Oliver’s favorite beer. Felicity curls up on her chair, and relaxes, if only for a moment. Hinges creak, and Oliver steps inside their home, dropping his messenger bag by the couch.

He greets, “Hey, I’m home.”

“In here,” His wife calls out.

“So what do you want for… Oh.”

His mouth suddenly runs dry at the sight of wife, wearing nothing but his army green cargo jacket. Felicity is positively swimming in it, waiting in her seat under the rounded archway to their dining room. The hem hits high on her thighs. His hands are itching to touch her. He doesn’t move a muscle, azure eyes lingering on her as she saunters towards him. She grins - a wry smile - before pressing her lips against his. Felicity sneaks a little tongue in there before hastily pulling away.

Adopting a sultry tone, Felicity responds, “Welcome home, Mr. Mayor.”

“I’d say thank you, but I don’t think that about covers it. Wouldn’t you agree, Mrs. Queen?” Oliver laughs — a rumbly sound emitted low in his throat that Felicity absolutely relishes in — arms slinging around her waist, “But I'll do whatever you want. I swear.”

“Ah, ah, ah, dinner first.” She chides, escorting him to his chair, “Eat. Drink. Relax.”

He whines like a little boy, “But…”

“Dinner.”

“But-”

“Not yet.”

Oliver relents glumly, “Okay, fine.”

Relax, she says. When his practically naked wife is sitting across from him. That’s going to easier said than done.

Picking up her fork, Felicity notes, “I made chicken cordon bleu — your favorite.”

“You did?” He inquires skittishly, not touching his food quite yet.

Oliver loves Felicity like crazy, although kitchens and his wife do not mix.

She deadpans, reassuring, “Okay, Lyla helped a little bit.”

Oliver shoots her a cheeky grin.

“Lyla helped a lot bit.”

A knowing look crosses his face.

“Alright, alright. Lyla made the whole damn dinner and dessert.” Felicity confesses, noting. "But I’ll have you know that she said I was an excellent supervisor.”

“You definitely are, Hon. We couldn’t do what we do every Wednesday night without you watching over us.” Oliver concurs, kissing her knuckles, “I mean, you’re my favorite taste tester.”

His gaze is jovial and bright, moon-eyed like she has recently blanketed pitch black sky with beautiful stars. Despite Felicity’s attire, lust is quelled for the time being. Felicity is so incredibly sweet to plan this entire dinner. Nights like these are everything. She’s love, home, happiness, and his always.

His wife alerts, bringing him back to reality, “You alright?”

“Uh-huh,” answers Oliver after a long beat.

“Good.” She insists with a mouthful, urging, “So eat your food before it gets cold.”

To say, silence between is uncomfortable would be a gross understatement. However, it certainly doesn’t have to do with anger. Oliver nearly chokes on a roasted parsnip chunk when Felicity adjusts the maroon cloth napkin in her lap, exposing more of her supple skin to his hungry gaze.

Nursing a sip of beer, her husband checks, “So it’s not your birthday or my birthday. Our wedding anniversary isn’t ‘til December. I first met you in October. You joined Team Arrow in February - a day before Valentine's. What am I forgetting here?”

“Wow.” Felicity whistles, “Absolutely nothing. You can remember all those dates, mister, yet you can't remember to close a drawer when you get changed in the morning?”

“Sorry.” His cheeks flush, clearing his throat, “Old habits. I didn’t mean to sound unappreciative. I love this and you, of course. I was surprised. That’s all.”

“I know. That’s kind of the whole point, Oliver. The beginning of our relationship was fun and spontaneous - adventures all around the world. We don’t need passports to get back to that. I’ve been so busy with Smoak Tech. City Hall’s been keeping you flooded with paperwork. Not to mention, drug lords that have been popping up out of the woodwork.”

“You wanted some time alone, just you and me? That’s what you’re saying.”

“Exactly.” She confirms, smooth palms contrasting his prickly stubble, “I think we need that every now and again.”

“Yeah.” He agrees, kissing her simply because he can.

They both put that smooch on pause when an acrid scent becomes pungent.

“Damn it!” Felicity exclaims, “I forgot to take out the chocolate souffles.”

They race to the kitchen. Oliver unhooks a potholder from an oven handle, turning down the heat and opening the door. They both cough at due to rising smoke. Four chocolate souffles fell to flat doughy disasters. Water baths have evaporated into steam, and dessert is officially ruined.

“Well, you can still have mint chocolate chip ice cream.” Oliver offers optimistically.

“True.” His wife wonders, pursing her red stained lips cutely, “But what about you?”

He winks, “Don’t worry. I have something else in mind.”

“Oliver,” Felicity giggles, lightly jabbing his arm.

Rubbing the spot, his face crumples, "Ow!"

She can see the hamster wheels turning in his head already. Regardless after stacking dirty dishes in the dishwasher, Star City’s power couple retires to their buttery brown leather couch. Felicity sits on her haunches, perched on Oliver’s good knee with a bowl of her favorite ice cream. She delights in two hearty scoops topped with a yummy drizzle of Hershey’s chocolate syrup. A misshapen mint green ring lines her mouth, and Oliver finds his wife’s eating habits utterly adorable. However, what’s she’s got under that jacket - his jacket - is painfully enticing.

“Oh, I think you have a little something right there.” Her husband chimes, lips honing in her pulse point.

“Hmm..." She doubts breathlessly, “I got ice cream all the way over onto my neck, huh?”

Nipping ever so slightly, he plays along, “Yup, right there.”

“Oh… Okay.” Felicity bites back a moan, bowl clinking in her trembling hand, “Mmm… Oliver, Honey, can I at least finish my dessert?”

Smiling against the same spot, where he leave a barely visible hickey, Oliver counters playfully, “Can I at least  _start_ my dessert?”

Clearly affronted, Felicity snipes, “ _Excuse me?_ ”

“Sorry, sorry. That was rude.”

“You’re damn right it was, but you’re lucky I love you, Queen because I’ll give you a pass.”

He promises, “I’ll make it up to you right now.”

“And my dessert is down.” Felicity proclaims, leaving her ice cream bowl on the glass coffee table.

On that note, Oliver scoops up Felicity with such ease. Her arms loop around his neck. Her legs ensnare his lower back, wrinkling his suit jacket. He bounds the stairs. Felicity hangs on tight. They share sweet pecks, although as the pair approaches their bedroom, kisses grow more intense. A moan vibrates against his mouth. Their smooches are wet and sloppy. Felicity snakes her tongue into his mouth, biting his bottom lip. He growls, pulling back for oxygen before he kisses his wife like a ravenous man at the end of a hunger strike. It’s pure passion — a moment Oliver has been craving since the second he walked in the door. Her creamy skin - adorned with a few adorable freckles - is littered with beard burn. Though Felicity doesn’t seem to mind one bit. They hate pulling away, but they must because Oliver’s wearing way too many clothes.

Felicity plucks the American flag pin from his lapel and puts it onto her nightstand, so they don’t step on it. From there, his clothes fly off as if it’s a race against the clock. His navy suit jacket falls to their lush carpeted floor. She yanks off his crimson tie, and her nimble fingers work over each button of his sky blue dress shirt. Oliver takes the liberty of removing his own pants, boxers, and socks. His impending arousal is no longer hidden under the confines of that stuffy suit. Felicity’s teeth dig into her lower lip, slipping back into his embrace. Their eyes reconvene, slowing down the heated frenzy. He holds her close, calloused palms scraping over a single a garment remaining her body. She breathes him in, planting a chaste kiss behind his ear.

With an eyebrow raise, curiosity piques his interest, “Do you have anything on under that jacket?”

Shrugging it off, she reveals with a pop on the p, “Nope. What are you going to do about it?”

His eyes travel over her beautifully nude body. She stands with her hands on her hips, leaving nothing to his imagination. He licks his lips, Adam’s apple bobbing when desire overwhelms him. God, he wants her right here, right now.

“Felicity.”

Her name rolls off his tongue gruffly -laden with lust and frustration. His calloused hands match the mangled skin of her scarred back.

Without warning, Oliver hoists Felicity into his strong arms. Her nails lightly rake over old wounds - not to hurt, but just enough to give him a feel. He lays her down in the middle of their bed. Their mouths meld into each other, stubble rasping at her delicate skin. Oliver leaves a trail of wet kisses down Felicity's torso, etching silent "I love you's" over her body. He pauses, dipping his tongue into her bellybutton before he continues his descent. Another kiss lingers on her pelvis, rapidly closing in on where she really wants him. His fingertips rub small circles over the backs of her knees. Felicity opens herself up for him, spreading her legs further apart. However, that boyish glimmer in Oliver’s eyes signal he has other plans. His breath ghosts over her core, stubble prickling her inner thighs. Oliver’s really enjoying this— teasing his wife with little nips and pecks.

Felicity pleads, voice quavering in frustration, “ _Ol-Oliver, please_. Goddammit, I can’t…”

Before she can get any word in edgewise, his tongue darts out, licking a stripe against her folds. Felicity’s hips thrust against his face to their own volition.Thankfully, an arm anchors her hips to their blue and green striped comforter. She tests the restraint of his arm as he laps at her increasingly wet sex like someone dying of thirst. Moans and curse words ring throughout their once quiet room. His tongue pierces her, shallowly exploring Felicity’s silken walls. It’s a heady rush, but not enough. A pink blush brightens the apples of her cheeks, panting loudly.

Wiping his mouth, Oliver asks, “What do you need?”

She's this short of shoving his head back down there.

“You know exactly what. Don’t stop.”

He doesn’t. Oliver knows Felicity’s body as well as his own. She doesn’t get a moment’s notice before his mouth is on her again. With a teasing lick, his fingers spread her open, pushing two digits in. Not a second later, he nurses her clit. The pace and dual sensation are absolutely maddening. Felicity cups the back her husband’s head firmly, keeping him there. Her fingers find purchase in his hair. Her hips arch up against his face, although it’s the sounds he makes that engulf in a haze. Moans only add to her pleasure just as he finds his own enjoyment out of being the only one who can make his wife feel this way. She tastes tangy, sweet, feminine, and simply Felicity. Though, something is a bit different — good different. Oliver can’t quite put his finger on it. Pushing that thought of his mind, he sucks on that little bundle of nerves, regardless of the tension in his jaw.

“Oh,  _Oliver._ Yeah, yeah, yeah. Right there. Ri…” She keens, nearly on the precipice “ _Fuck!_ ”

Heat coursing through her veins, Felicity's abdomen clenches. She rides out her orgasm against his face, eyes draping shut as heightened sensations swamp her mind and body. It’s awhile before she regains her bearings. Felicity finds Oliver waiting patiently, looking back at her with the spirit of a boy who only aims to please. Still, he wears the bravado of a man who is pretty confident he did.

Finally, he speaks, “Are you okay? Talk to me, Felicity.”

“I’m… Hell, I don’t know what I am. That was so intense.”

Playing with their intertwined fingertips, her husband needs to know, “In a good way, Baby?"

“In a mind-blowing way, Honey.” Felicity tells him, hands sweeping over his slightly damp locks. “Look, we’re nowhere near done yet, but I think you’re going to have to do most of the work. My legs still feel like Jell-o.”

She wants to return the favor, but Felicity feels sort of floaty. Besides all Oliver needs is to be inside her.

“It’s okay. Lie back.” Oliver whispers, “Just hold onto me tight.”

A giggle erupts out of Felicity’s throat, recalling, “See now? These are the exact circumstances I imagined when you first said that to me.”

“Yeah?”

Dimples pool in his cheek, and her happiness mirrors his.

“Yeah.”

His lips slant over hers, breathing each other in. Oliver probes two fingers, checking for remnants of her previous orgasm before they start up again. Thankfully, they’re good to go. His body blankets hers, hands sneaking in a brief ass grab before they settle on her hips. Felicity clings to Oliver while her legs provide the perfect cradle. He strokes in, and they gasp at the pure feeling of being connected in more ways than one. He’s deep-seated inside Felicity before her walls snugly pulse around his cock. He pulls out, thrusting back in slowly. Their rhythm is gentler than the staccato pace they usually set. It’s slow, more intimate — making love just this. They kiss on each thrust, lips barely disconnecting. Sweat dampens his chest, their heartbeats thundering harmoniously. Despite her lethargic limbs, Felicity meets him with short, shallow upward thrusts of her own. Her heels dig into his bare butt cheeks, urging her husband to go harder and faster. He takes the hint, doing exactly that. Springs squeak under their shared imminent release. She squeezes his member purposefully.

“S _hit, Felicity._ How are you doing this? That feels so…” Oliver groans roughly, pleasure sparking at the base of his spine, “Oh, God...  _Baby._ ”

Cum seeps down his shaft, coating her from the inside out. Felicity whimpers at the mingling sensations heat, sweat, remnants of their pleasure, and Oliver's trembling body over her. Spent, Oliver shudders, and collapses on top of Felicity. He tries to move away - not wanting to crush her under his heavy muscular weight - though Felicity revels in an opportunity to hold her husband close.

Oliver eventually rolls off Felicity, much to his wife’s objections. “ _No, Honey. I’m okay. I like you like this_.”

He plants chaste smooches along her cheek, neck, and top of her breast. Felicity turns on her side, snuggling in his comfortable embrace. She hooks her legs over his, fingers splaying out his scarred chest. His fingertips bush over her scarred shoulder.

Through half-lidded eyes, Oliver mutters tiredly, “Hey.”

“Hiya,” Felicity says quietly, “So date night in next week?”

He mumbles sleepily, “I’ll cook. You pick up dessert.”

“Deal.”

When they muster enough energy to move away from the comfort of their own bed, Oliver and Felicity clean up and change into their pajamas. Before the couple drifts off to dreamland, they indulge in one last kiss coated in Vaseline since it’s a necessity for Felicity during summer. Six weeks later, Oliver and Felicity would need a Hell of a lot more than Vaseline after discovering she is pregnant with their first child.


	4. Grand Tour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt 3 (again)** : Taste. Felicity returns the favor in her office.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tazza di Zucchero is sugar cup or literally cup of sugar in Italian, according to Google Translate.

Diggle knocks Oliver to the ground with a hard thud, offering him a hand back up.

“That’s what you get for cutting your six mile down to five, man.”

Foot brushing against his calf, Oliver notes, “I was busy.”

“You have to maintain your endurance.” His friend reminds, adopting a fighting stance.

The off-duty Emerald Archer assures, lips creasing in a boyish grin, “Oh, I did.”

“I don’t need details, brother.” John cuts in, cringing.

Before they can continue their training session, Oliver’s phone beeps with a text from his wife.

“Gotta go.”

With an eyebrow raise, the former Master Sergeant inquires, “So soon?”

“Mm-hm. Felicity wants to take one last look at the Smoak Tech blueprints before her grand opening tomorrow, so I have to drop ‘em off.”

“Okay.” Dig nods, mentioning, “But we’re doubling up on workouts tomorrow. At this rate, I think Curtis can kick your ass.”

Oliver’s grin grows wider, flipping off his workout buddy as he steps inside the bunker’s elevator. Felicity receives a message from her husband, saying that he’s going to take a quick shower and should be over soon with what she needed. In truth, all she needs is Oliver. But this little grand tour ruse is going to be fun. The big day is almost here, and Felicity knows the perfect way to celebrate opening her start-up technology conglomerate. A familiar crimson and black Ducati zips past traffic, coming to a stop at what was formerly known as Oliver Enterprises. Felicity does a much better job at running companies than he ever did.

Felicity greets, “Hi.”

“Hey,” replies her husband, giving one badass CEO a chaste peck after he removes his helmet, “You’re in a good mood.”

“Mm, how can I not be? I’m so excited. I know I should be nervous, but I’m so fracking ready for this baby to make its way into the business world. I’m the boss. Me.”

“I know. I know. You should be excited. You’re going to do even more exciting things for the people that live here, Baby.”

Well, Felicity certainly hopes so.

The future tech mogul sighs, “Fingers, toes, eyes, and everything crossed. You got the blueprints I need, Hon?”

Patting his messenger bag, Oliver promises, “Right here.”

Though, he fetches some other things from his sidecar.

“You didn’t,” His wife laughs, playfully poking Oliver’s chest.

His eyes flicker down to her finger. Dimples pool in their cheeks.

He reveals, “I got your almost-first-day-as-a-boss-fern and a double chocolate chip lava cookie from Tazza di Zucchero.”

Rubbing her hands together like a little girl on Chanukah, who desperately wanted bubbe’s rugelach to cool faster, the adorable blonde demands, “Ooh. Gimme, gimme, gimme.”

“Ah, ah, ah.” Oliver chides, pointing to his pillowy lips, “Kiss please.”

She chimes, “Of course.”

Felicity’s magenta lips smother his in an ardent kiss before Star City’s favorite power couple steps inside the building. She partakes in a bite of pure chocolate decadence. Oliver doesn’t know how Dina and her girlfriend Jivika do it, but the inside of their cookies are always warm and gooey — a texture he can’t master yet. She doesn’t share because the sweet treat tastes divine, so it’s all hers. Thankfully, Oliver isn’t much of a dessert-loving kind of guy. Clacking heels and subtle squeaks of work boots break the comfortable silence between as Felicity saves the rest of that dessert for later.

As soon as they’re in the elevator, her husband asks, “So why did you need the Smoak Tech blueprints? Isn’t the building ninety-nine percent done?”

“Yes.” Felicity confirms, interlacing their fingertips, “But I wanted to give you your own private grand tour.”

“Okay.”

She exhales, concealing her disappointment. Felicity didn’t think Oliver would actually agree to this. Couldn’t Mr. Ninja-skills superhero pick up on her true intentions, or sexy tone in her voice? However, here they are, so Felicity goes with the flow. The Queens' first stop is Smoak Tech’s Research and Development lab. For a space which is mainly Curtis’, his workspace is an absolute pigsty. An animated caricature of his boss babbles, “Blah, blah, blah,” with a comic book speech bubble. His rolling desk chair sits askew. Small fluorescent lights under microscopes waste energy, and worst of all, crushed neon orange caffeinated drinks litter the carpet, forming a pathway to his computer station.

“Ugh, is that supposed to be me?” The hacker snipes, squeezing Oliver’s hand tighter. “Curtis is so lucky, he’s one of my favorites, because me as a screensaver puts him in water hotter than a river in Hades.”

Oliver observes, “I think it’s sort of cute. Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery."

Felicity glares at her man, shooting him a patent angry expression over her glasses.

“Tell that to Black Siren next time we try to stop her during those illegal drug shipments at the pier."

“Point taken. What the Hell, Curtis?” Her husband rectifies with a clear of throat. “He should keep his workspace clean.”

Felicity’s magenta lipstick marks his stubbly cheek.

“Thank you. Now you get it, my love.”

“Uh-huh, so what’s next?”

Oliver’s forehead crinkles when his wife easily pops off a metal panel, revealing a secret button.

Smiling at a memory, she rubs her thumb over his his husky wedding band, “Just in case.”

Felicity presses the apparent ground-level key. Oliver lets go of his wife’s hand. She becomes acutely aware of her husband’s hand tapping against against his thigh. Oliver trusts Felicity. He will always trust her with his life, their family, marriage, and night work. However, surprises make him sweat, especially after his birthday. Oliver simply doesn’t like not knowing what he’s walking into without casing the environment. Plus, neither Oliver nor Felicity’s PTSD issues disappear, although they’re both working on them with a little nudge from Lyla and an A.R.G.U.S.  psychotherapist, where the duo individually discusses any problems plaguing them, including their heroic jobs.

“What? Where are we…” Oliver babbles, although with marriage, couples tend to pick up one another’s habits. “Felicity, Honey, are you sure this is safe?”

To those outside their group, Felicity’s actions may be a bit strange and over the top, yet they’re alone. So she does it anyway. She places his trembling hand over the small of her back, purposefully slipping into his embrace. Right as Oliver inhales, Felicity jumps up into his arms, taking him aback. His azure eyes fixate on her face. However, she knows his mind is drifting off to a wretched five years in Purgatory. Her hands settle on his shoulder blades, and her legs wrap firmly around his waist. If Oliver wasn’t so rattled, Felicity would be very tempted to have some fun right here, right now. He needs her, and she needs him to come back to her. Felicity’s head rests in the crook of his neck, chest pressing against her husband’s stuttering heart.

“Oliver?”

No audible response, although he breathes her in like their heavy down comforter at home when he has a nightmare. Oliver refuses to wake Felicity up from her sleep, knowing she needs rest.

“Hey, I’m here. I’m here.” She whispers gently. “We’re safe. William and Samantha are fine. Thea’s with Mackenzie. We’re both home. We’re alright”

“I know. I know. The island…”

“Hey, you don’t need to explain anything to me. I get it.”

He wishes she never did. The dark billowing smoke, hundreds of explosions, fears of losing the ones they love, an event which will forever haunt them both. Lulled by her warmth, Oliver shifts back to reality. Her stilettos clop down to the tiled floor, remaining at Oliver’s side when they reach their destination. Doors ding and slide open to reveal somewhat of a dark, dank room.

“Where are we?” Oliver quizzes, adjusting to the lack of light faster than Felicity.

However, she obviously knows this place better than he does. Felicity heads over to a wall, pulling down a large light switch. It’s another backup bunker, similar to the one previously under Verdant.

Felicity prompts excitedly, “Say _something,_  Honey. Come on, what do you think?”

“How-how did you do all this by yourself?”

“Hi, have we met before? You’re honorable, heroic, and broody.” She deadpans, recalling, “I’m really smart, fast, and efficient.”

There’s no doubt about that. Still, this is a lot of work in a short of amount of time. Felicity is damn good, but no one can handle everything on their own.

“ _Felicity_.”

“Fine. Ye of little faith.” His wife sighs in exasperation.

He cuts in, “Hey, I have complete faith in you. You’re amazing, but what’s the deal? Spill it.”

Felicity admits, “I thought we could use another backup bunker just in case the lair or one in our attic ever became compromised. You and I both know our team’s history with destroyed lairs. Cisco gave me some blueprints. Jesse supersped her way as my own personal moving van, but I set up the tech, and that. I really love watching you do that.”

“Fair enough.” Oliver concedes, spotting the salmon ladder closest to Overwatch’s workstation. “It’s perfect.”

It may be the size of their old lair, but their biometric cases for their suits are helpful. Oliver guesses Cisco is adamant about copper wiring since no tech is fritzing. His eyes widen when a T-Sphere floats away from the rafters, scanning Oliver’s body. His muscles tense, wishing he has his quiver.

“Oliver, relax. Consider this Gideon’s way of saying hello.”

Eyebrows furrowed, he needs to know, “What the fuck is Gideon?”

“Recognize: Green Arrow.” The AI robot announces, “001.”

“Sara told me about her, so I invented Gideon with some help from Tracy. See?” Felicity informs, summoning her tech.

Gideon scans Felicity as well, “Recognize: Overwatch, 003.”

Metahumans, aliens, and God knows what else. Robots are the least of his worries. After a quick walk-through, Oliver and Felicity check out the IT department run by Lily Stein, Martin’s daughter and a brilliant scientist in her own right. She practically writes new books on nanotech, surpassing her boyfriend Ray’s knowledge ten times over. Felicity is overjoyed when her former roommate at MIT applied for the job with scheduled access to Curtis R&D lab as needed. Dr. Tracy Brand runs the Smoak Tech Walter Steele Applied Sciences division, molding young, remarkable minds. One of which include Zari Adrianna Tomaz — a force soon to be reckoned with, according to the Legends. Luckily, Zari’s on their side. They pass a break room with a vending machine, juice station, and yoga area. Felicity and Rory enjoy yoga, so with some not-so subtle convincing, she thinks “Why not?”

Their final stop is Felicity’s office on the thirty-sixth floor. Most items in her spot at the top are cool, chrome, and high-tech. Although Felicity’s seemingly sturdy white wooden desk, buttery yellow couch with red throw pillows and matching chairs are exceptions to the design. She sets her fern down opposite to her framed collage of their City Hall wedding photo and romantic weekend in Coast City. Oliver and Felicity can’t wait to celebrate with a proper ceremony at Starling Botanical Garden with a honeymoon in Bali. However, it has to be in December since it’s the only time Donna can fly in from Vegas. To be honest, they both know they’re already married. The ceremony to appease friends and family. The couple is most looking forward to the one week in paradise. Though their friends can tell already the Queens won’t see many sights besides each other. Felicity scours the city skyline. From behind, Oliver wraps his arms around her. Sunlight sinks into the horizon, painting the sky in oranges, purples, and deep dark blues.

Oliver whispers, “Everything the light touches is yours, my love.”

Felicity laughs - a full-bodied giggle that jostles against his forearms, one pure sound that Oliver enjoys so much - he joins in her glee.

“Did you just make a _Lion King_ reference?”

“What? I’m not completely immune to pop culture.” He says, nuzzling her neck. “Besides Will and Thea love that movie.”

She concurs, “True.”

“Yeah.”

His wife thinks, “Not exactly how I pictured today going.”

“Huh?” Oliver remarks, absentmindedly tracing ambiguous patterns over her arms. “What did you have in mind?”

Fiddling with zippers on his sleeves, she responds, “To return that favor you gave me this morning before your jog.”

* * *

Right as the sun rose, Oliver snuck out of bed, threw on some ratty old sweats, and headed out for a run. Felicity was left to her blissful dreams, vaguely remembering a kiss from her husband. She’d been so stressed before the grand opening of Smoak Tech. Why not relax with morning romance? Only problem: her husband was elsewhere. Felicity then decided to take matters into her hands. Her deft hands traveled over the expanse of her clothed body slowly, imagining Oliver’s touch instead of her own. The way his calloused hands drifted over her hot skin, or how he kissed, nipped, and licked at her until she was a trembling mess. Her hips arched off the bed, removing a pair of Oliver’s worn gray boxers she’d pilfered last night. Felicity’s coral tank top soon followed. Her nimble fingertips danced across her skin — squeezing her dusky pink nipples, dipping into her belly button, scorching with desire. They traced along her increasingly slick seam, not daring to slip in yet. No, Felicity needed quick and sweet relief now. Propped up on her side, she rummaged around for a tiny purple vibrator. The whirring sound sent sparks across her nerves.

“Don’t.” Oliver commanded roughly.

Through half-lidded eyes, Felicity gasped, toy falling to the mattress. Early on in their relationship, Oliver and Felicity agreed masturbation was a perfectly healthy release, and some mornings, they did it together. But since he was here now, they could have some real fun. Oliver strode over to her side of the bed.

“What about your run with John?” Felicity moaned, hand lingering on her pelvis.

“I’ll be late.”

Oliver crawled onto rumpled sheets. He tossed her Magic Bullet back in the drawer. She twisted her hips, facing him. They shared lazy smiles. His palm laid on her butt cheek, squeezing slightly. Oliver’s hand descended her torso. Felicity’s digits circled her clitoris while his fingers worked their way into that sweltering wet clutch. Uneven breaths mingled in their quiet room. Oliver kept pumping his fingers in at a maddening pace. Her legs clamped around his wrist. Oliver crooked his fingertips, riffing over a special spot as he whispered dirty things in her ear.

She keened, “Ooh, oh, fuck!”

Muscles in her abdomen rippled as curse words rumbled in his ear. Her walls convulsed around him, cum seeping down his calloused skin. Her chest jostled with desperate bids for oxygen. They’d taken care of her together. He sucked on his digits, tasting her thoroughly. Felicity's eyelids fluttered before her mouth plundered his, tongue snaking its way past her husband's lips. Oliver's eyes widened, groaning when he pulled back. Felicity usually took a break before they reignited their other nightly activities. She tugged on the waistband of his black sweatpants.

“Baby, if you do that, I won’t get out of this damn bed. I promised John. Her husband warned, “So later please.”

His wife spoke softly, enticing him with what was to come. Well, besides him. “Just you wait. I’ll…”

* * *

Felicity leads Oliver to her en suite restroom with an unspoken promise. She slams the door shut, locking it with a jiggle and twist. Oliver unzips his tobacco brown leather jacket, whipping off his navy T-shirt. Eyes hungry with lust, happiness radiates off Oliver. Her black lace panties dangle from one foot — a sight they would typically be amused by, but there’s no time. Oliver’s arms loop around her waist, wine red dress rucked up past her ass. But Felicity clearly has other plans in mind as she removes her glasses. Using her husband’s shirt and jacket as a cushion, Felicity kneels on the tiled floor. She eases his jeans and boxers down to his feet. Her hand brushes against his dick from base to tip, pumping him three times. Not a second later, Felicity’s magenta lips wrap around him. He moans at the exquisite heat, holding still. Her azure eyes pin his — mitigated with love, lust, and urgency. She hollows her cheeks, mimicking what they would do between her legs. Yet Oliver avoids thrusting in, restraining himself.

“Shit, Felicity.” Oliver groans, gently cupping the back of her head, “Touch yourself for me, Baby.”

She happily obliges, moaning along with him. The sensation and visual alone drive him crazy. Felicity tongues the vein along his dick, tasting a strand of precum. She strokes what she can’t taste, foregoing her own pleasure. When her throat closes around his member, he breaks. His butt cheeks clench. His balls tighten, spilling into her in long, hot spurts. He tastes salty, tangy, masculine, flooding her senses. Relief tingles all throughout his body. Oliver's eyelids drape shut.

After a moment’s respite, Felicity laughs, “You okay there, tough guy?”

In answer to her question, Oliver hoists Felicity up into his arms, taking her right against the restroom door. Prickly stubble and wet smooches trail along her neck. Not bothering with the rest of their clothes, Oliver positions himself at her entrance. Felicity can’t move much, although she doesn’t care. Her fingers splayed over his scarred muscular back. His hips press into her, deep-seated inside his wife, succumbing to that wet, warm, incredible clutch. His hips snap up, pounding into her. Her trembling hands frame his face, giving an all-consuming kiss before she needs air. She nips at his lower lip. Oliver growls, changing the angle of his thrusts. When his pelvis brushes against her clitoris, Felicity shouts, echoing throughout the restroom, which apparently features great acoustics. Oliver’s name is a litany on her lips, whispering it in his ear.

In the midst of her orgasm, he groans. “Fuck… Oh, baby.”

They find pleasure curled around each other. When Felicity's bare feet touch the cool tiled floor, her husband chuckles at their disheveled hair and clothes. They clean up, sliding their underwear back on.

Exiting the restroom hand-in-hand, Felicity jokes, “Pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Queen.”

“Always, Mrs. Queen.” Oliver smiles so damn much. His cheeks will hurt by tomorrow.

Felicity leans into her husband, “Oh, and Oliver?”

“Hmm?”

She coaxes, nibbling on his earlobe, “Just know when I wear this dress, feel free to take a _long_ lunch or dinner break over here.”

“Thank you.” He adds, caressing her back.

“Are you thanking me or the dress?”

Shrugging his shoulders, Oliver presumes, “Both.”


	5. Babymoon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt 4:** At Odds.

Sunlight peeked through palm tree leaves, darting over a townhouse. Oliver sat cross-legged at his wife’s bare feet while Felicity lied at the foot of their bed, counting ripples in the ceiling. Waves crashed against the shore right in the Queens’ backyard. His calloused hands massaged her aching soles, garnering for attention. Felicity’s gaze flicked over to her husband. She opened her mouth, yet silence weighted heir bedroom. The ticking clock was akin to numerous explosives Team Arrow dismantled over countless patrols. Missions were dwindling, and all the good they’d done will soon be nothing but memories.

“You’re uncharacteristically quiet.”

“What do you want me to say, Oliver? You think it’s time to hang up the hood. I can’t leave the team. I won’t.”

“Felicity, baby.”

“Don’t you ‘baby’ me, Queen.” She snapped, caressing the swell of her growing belly. “You only call me that when you want something.”

“Yeah, I want us to talk about this.”

Voice rising with annoyance, Felicity countered, “What else is there to talk about? You’ve made up your mind, haven’t you?”

“No, not without talking to you first. I promise.”

Felicity wanted to leave their bed, but Oliver pulled her into his lap. She glanced at a photo of their first trip to Bali. He tucked a curl behind her ear and gently cupped her face.

Oliver implored, kissing away her pensive pout, “Please.”

“Okay,” His wife sighed.

Felicity never expected their babymoon to include a fight. A trip to their vacation home in Coast City before their son is born. Sandy beaches, killer tacos from Linterna Verde, and amazing sex with her hunky husband. When they first arrived in California, their plan went smoothly.

* * *

**_Yesterday_ **

Oliver murmured against Felicity’s skin, “Wow.”

“Uh-huh. We still got it.”

She giggled at his stubble deliciously prickling her scars. He soothed tiny pink pinpricks with wet smooches descending her spine. Oliver etched wordless “I love you's.” over his wife’s nude body. Felicity arched into his touch, legs clamping around one of his. Their sheets were sweltering as his palm drifted over her hip. Oliver almost disappeared under the covers, although a ringing phone and kicking baby interrupted round 2.

“Don’t answer it,” insisted her husband.

“Hon, it’s Curtis, I have to. The team could be in trouble.”

He grumbled, fiery azure eyes pinning hers, “Fine.”

“Thank you.” Felicity acknowledged, fingers sifting through his spiky blond locks. “Besides, you’re the who woke Tommy.”

Oliver grinned — joy swelling in his heart because he’s becoming a father again — as his hand dwarfed Felicity’s on her stomach, “Sorry, Buddy. Daddy and Mommy did some very naughty things.”

“O _liver Jonas_.”

Curtis greeted on the other line, “G.A.’s middle name is Jonas. Ooh, Rene’s going to have a Hell of a time busting his balls on something so old-school. Seriously? Jonas has to be straight out of the ‘40’s. Oh, please don’t tell Oliver I called him G.A.”

“Too late.” His mentor said sternly.

Felicity informed, sucking air through her teeth, “You’re on speaker.”

“Ha! Told you so, Glasses.” Rene snorted, jabbing Curtis’ shoulder. “D, you owe me a five bucks.”

“Only if you stop hitting him. Be nice to your boyfriend, Hoss.”

“You hit the clubs with a brother one time, and you’re labeled for life.”

Dinah reminded, “It was a new gay bar called On Fleek, and you…”

“I was helping tall, dark, and nerdy here land a date!”

“Hey!” Felicity cut in, subsequently following a loud whistle. “Squash the bickering now, and tell us what you need.”

“Please. It was all Dinah and Rene — not me.”

“Oh, see, D?” Rene pointed out, “There he goes again ratting us out to Mommy and Daddy like a little snitch. Your code name’s supposed to be Black Canary — not his.”

Dinah noted, “We’re on the phone, you idiots! Let’s drop it.”

“They still started it.”

“Well, I’m ending it. 5AM training sessions every day as soon as Felicity and I get back to Star City. Now what the Hell do you need?”

The team groaned simultaneously.

“The new entry password. Gideon won’t let us in the bunker, and Derek Sampson's on the move.”

“Huh? Since super bads think of our lair as a revolving door, we change it every three months. The password is Prochnost1217.” Overwatch answered. “Anything else?”

Curtis tapped against his Tablet keyboard, “Nope. We’re in.”

“Let us know if there’s any trouble.” Oliver reminded. “Text us an update when you catch Sampson.”

“And Curtis, feel free to use that new chair I got you — not mine. I hate how you always adjust the height.”

Her friend replied, before ending the call, “Thanks, boss.”

The now brunette hacker set her phone on the nightstand, slipping into Oliver’s embrace. He played with her fingertips. She twisted her hips, legs tangling together. Her toes scraped against light hair on his kiss. Tommy’s constant movements stirred between them.

Pressing a kiss where his Bratva tattoo once remained, Felicity moaned contently, “Mm, I could stay like this forever. Couldn’t you?”

“With you, Honey.” Oliver muttered groggily, lips creasing against her natural curly hair, “Always.”

He meant it, foregoing sex. Felicity’s breathing evened out, and Tommy curled up in her belly, his movements ceasing. A soft smile crossed her lips, and everything was so peaceful — happier than those Hellish five years could ever be. Amazing wife, wonderful sons, great family, and friends, what more was there? What left was there to do for him as Green Arrow? The team didn’t need help anymore. Oliver drifted off to sleep, dreaming of a normal life. He and Felicity would pick up the kids. Oliver would make dinner. Felicity helped with their homework. No bad guy shooting at them because it was simply a calm civilian life. He woke awhile later to a toilet flushing.

Pilfering a beige dress shirt, his wife intoned, “Hey, sleepyhead. Your son was doing parkour flips in my tummy. I had to pee so badly. Thanks a lot.”

He quipped playfully, “You’re welcome. Remind me again, why is Tommy _my_ son only when he plays baby vigilante on your bladder?”

“Because it’s on _your_ side of the gene pool, mister. So dinner out or in? If it’s out, I have got to find something to wear, I feel like a BESK.”

“Huh?”

“Giant Swedish computer from the 1950’s.”

“Oh, come on.” Oliver chuckled, grabbing her hands. “I think you look beautiful, Felicity.

“Sure, you’re not bias at all,” Felicity scoffed. “Aren’t you, my love?”

“Me? Never. So you’re cool with dinner out?”

His wife prompted with a cheeky grin, “Maybe.”

“Tacos at Linterna Verde.” Oliver relented, knowing the magic words.

He had to ask Manny for his secret spice mixture one of these days. Stars blanketed the night sky. Air grew a bit chilly by the sea, but it was nothing Oliver’s beloved navy peacoat couldn’t fix. Felicity’s thumb grazed his husky wedding band as he draped the jacket over her shoulders. Linterna Verde roused with festivity. Customers ate, drank, and danced off their meals. Local musicians livened up the joint, performing uptempo sultry beats with their voices, guitars, and trumpets. Felicity shimmied her shoulders in time with the tunes. Oliver’s face split in a broad smile, blushing as he ducked his head into her shoulder. They were seated by the chef/owner since Hal and Carol put in a good word. Plus the Queens dined here so often, it was no big for a pair of the restaurant’s best customer.

“Are you okay?” Felicity inquired, reaching for his hand across the table.

Her husband admitted, “I’ve got a lot on mind.”

“You’re worried about the recruits without John there?”

“Yeah, kind of among other things.”

Wanting to know more, she wondered, “Like what?”

A server popped by before Oliver uttered another word. Felicity was dying to get her hands on those perfectly spiced chicken tacos while her husband opted for a hearty pozole verde.

Oliver confessed, “I’ve been thinking a lot about future, and how you and I always make a good team — no matter where we are.”

“What are you getting at, Honey?”

“I-I… You know what it can wait. I’ll tell you after we eat.

Food saved Oliver’s neck. Tacos were crunchy and warm. Pozole had the right amount heat. Now was not a good time. Pushing those thoughts out of his mind, Oliver and Felicity ate amidst gentle ballads. Crumbs were the sole remnants of their delicious meals. A satisfied belch rumbled from Felicity’s mouth. Thankfully, Oliver received a text from Curtis, mentioning Sampson had one cozy cell at A.R.G.U.S.

“So are you going to tell me what you said you’d tell me?”

“I will.” He leaned in, voice dropping to a whisper, “It involves our night jobs, so can we put this conversation on pause ‘til we get home?”

She concurred, “Fair enough.”

“Time for a dance?” Her husband prompted, getting out of his seat.

Felicity’s eyes widened. She felt his forehead. Strangely, Oliver wasn’t sick — the lucky man rarely fell ill. He pulled out his wife’s chair, awaiting her answer.

“Oh, God.” She worried, twisting her rings on her finger, “It’s something bad, isn’t it?”

He shrugged, “Depends how you feel now. If you don’t want to, we can go home.”

“No, no. I do. Getting you to dance at our wedding was like trying to hack the Pentagon database. But you’re on, Queen.”

Oliver gave a tip of his invisible chateau, “Milady.”

They were ensnared in a tight hug as the couple swayed to an in-house singer, Elena — a vocalist with a modern day Selena vibe. Music sped up when a guy by the name of Miles delivered a Hell of a salsa number in Spanish. Steps became awkward with Felicity being at the end of her fifth month, and Oliver’s lack of rhythm.

“If Di was here, she’d say, move those hips, you sad white boy!’” Felicity exclaimed over the music, guiding her husband’s lower half.

Oliver whispered huskily in her ear, “You know how good I am with my hips.”

“Nice try.” She smirked, leading him. “Move with me.”

Their moves couldn’t win them one of those cheesy celebrity dance competitions, although date night was still fun. They drove over a long stretch of road. Highlights from Star City Thunder’s NBA damn near recording breaking win reported by Linda Ng filled their ears. Felicity’s stomach sank. Their unborn son was fine, and those tacos were scrumptious. Oliver vowed to never lie to her again, and he kept that promise. However, something was off. His eyes were focused on light traffic, getting them home. Oliver made a wide turn, parking in their driveway while Felicity disarmed their security system. Her bandolier hit the floor, and the expectant mother plopped down on the couch.

“Unpause on our conversation.”

“I know,” Her husband sighed, hands sweeping through his hair. “I know.”

Challenging, she questioned, “What’s going on, Oliver?”

“I don’t want to be the Green Arrow anymore.”

“What? When?” Felicity stumbled over her thoughts, “Wh-why now?”

Taking her hand, Oliver explained, “Because our family’s getting bigger...”

Anger shot a thrill over her spine.

“Don’t use our baby as an excuse, Oliver!”

“Well, if you let me finish, Felicity. Crime rates are lower than they’ve been in six years. We have a team in place who are than capable of handling things SCPD hasn’t even dreamed of yet.”

She laughed incredulously, “So what? That’s supposed to stop the bad guys from coming out of the woodwork like termites. The city needs you.”

“Does the city need me, or do you want to keep playing superhero to get some sort of life purpose I can’t give you?”

Not even looking at her husband, Felicity sniped, “I’m sure the couch will be comfortable tonight.”

* * *

**  
** _**Present Day**_

“I’m sorry about how I dropped that bomb on you last night. It wasn’t about you. I think now’s a good time for us to leave this double life.”

“Thank you.” His wife nodded curtly, “But what about all the people we helped? Who’s going to stick up for them?”

Echoing sentiments from three years ago, Oliver reminded, “Our city isn’t lacking masks or heroes. I’m getting older and slower.”

Felicity slowly scooted into her husband’s lap, placing her hand over his heart, “You’re thirty-three, Honey. I hardly think it’s time to consider a nursing home.”

“Yeah.” He laughed, an ice breaker in the tension between them.

“What is this really about?”

Hands framing her face, Oliver’s voice broke, “Am I enough for you and the kids? Is that normal part of our lives enough for you stay?”

Kissing away his fears, Felicity thought, “You, Oliver Jonas Queen, who happens to be an amazing husband, the best daddy in the world to our kids, and a badass mayor of Star City are more than enough for me. I love you with everything in me, and I am not going anywhere without you by my side.”

Oliver's lips ticked up, uneasy acceptance looming over his head

“Okay.”

Knowing him better than anyone, she guessed, “Do you want to tuck the arrows back in your quiver because you feel it’s the right time, or are you afraid William and Tommy will grow up without a father?”

“I need to be there for them and you. I won’t let them turn into me, and I want to be with you for the rest of my life.”

“Oh, I’m holding you to that, but I think you can’t let fear stop you. So many people’s lives — my life — is better since you became the Green Arrow. Look, I know we can’t do this forever, but now is not the right time. With the new baby coming, little breaks every now and again will do us some good. You have so much more to teach the recruits.”

Oliver noted, “Curtis and Rene need some help. “

“Just a little.” Felicity emphasized with a pinch.

Oliver didn’t stop jumping off rooftops for decades. To say, their argument was resolved in a cinch was impossible. It was a continued discussion, they engaged in over the years. But the couple managed to take time off. Just enough for them to have a couple kids and lead a mostly normal life. Green Arrow and Overwatch would forever some of the best parts of their souls.


	6. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt 5:** Out of place

Sunlight roared over the horizon, painting the sky in pink and orange hues. Rays crested over neighboring skyscrapers, which darted into the Queens’ bedroom. Oliver’s eyes opened gradually, his vision bleary. Even breathing ebbed against his abdomen. While he wasn’t one for morning, the off-duty Emerald Archer beamed with happiness. Felicity’s lips creased in a soft smile. His expression matched hers. How could anyone be so blissful at this ungodly hour? Oliver pressed a fleeting kiss to his wife’s forehead before quietly sneaking out of bed. He strode over to their master bathroom, hearing sheets rustle.

Felicity pouted, voice laden with sleep. “Hey, come back. I need my pillow.”

“I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t.” His wife yawned, stretching her arms until she heard a telltale crack. “It’s too bright and sunny this morning. Annoying as Frack.”

Oliver chuckled, squatting down at her side, “You sound like me.”

“Perks of marriage,” She shrugged, “I guess, you’re rubbing off on me, and don’t you dare make that dirty.”

“Ha!” He snorted with a grin, “That’s usually your area of expertise, Hon.”

Swatting his behind, the adorable blonde reminded, “You love it.”

“Sometimes.”

Felicity transferred into her wheelchair, using her improved upper body strength and armrests. Concern flitted over Oliver’s face, but he didn’t utter a single word. He was learning to let go. Felicity wanted to maintain her independence, and Oliver respected his wife’s wishes. They squeezed through the narrow door of the en suite bathroom, elbowing each other when Oliver shaved or Felicity washed her face. This loft was amazing, although lately it was crowded. They desperately needed a bigger place. One thing after another went wrong — fireplace, plumbing, and circuit breaker. Thankfully, the first couple of Star City was in the process of finding a more comfortable abode. They really hoped to find it soon, but with Dinah’s former realtor, Estelle, they shouldn’t have any trouble at all.

“Dad!”

His stepmother assured, “He’ll be there in a sec, Buddy.”

“The toilet’s backed up again!”

“Ooh, boy.” Oliver jogged over to William’s room, finding the bathroom floor flooded with toilet water. “I gotcha, Bubba. I gotcha.”

Will chided, crossing his arms, “ _Dad_.”

“Sorry, Will.”

Oliver tweaked the shut off valve at the back.

Fidgeting, his son asked, “I know I have to help you clean up, but I really have to take a leak, so can I..?”

“You can use our bathroom as soon as Felicity’s done.”

Wheeling through the hallway, she promised, “All yours, little dude.”

“Thanks, Felicity,” replied William, voice cracking as he enunciated her name.

He raced off, needing to relieve himself before his bladder felt like it was going to explode.

Felicity whistled, “Woah, what a mess in here.”

“Sorry!” Her stepson chimed while on the crapper.

In truth, a lot of units were getting backed up. It’s crazy what some people thought of as flushable — a stuffed toy bunny, drugs unfortunately, baby wipes, and hair trimmings should not be on that list. Oliver, Felicity, and William cleaned up the Great Bathroom Flood of 2018 with old rags and a Swiffer mop.

Looking at the clock on the ceiling, Oliver announced, “All done. Now who’s in the mood for some my famous banana chocolate chip pancakes.”

“Me, me, me!” William and Felicity answered simultaneously.

Felicity and William bolted over to the staircase. Oliver laughed, trailing right behind them before he lugged Felicity’s wheelchair downstairs. He didn’t know who was more excited for breakfast. Much to his wife’s dismay, Oliver carried Felicity to the living room. While those steps were sleek and stylish, a staircase without proper railing made it impossible to install a chair lift — something Felicity needed.

“Slow down, slow down,” His wife warned incessantly, eyes clamped shut, “Be careful, careful, _careful_.”

“Oh, do you want me to be careful?”

The teen smirked, flexing his muscles. “Don’t worry, Felicity. If Dad drops you, I can catch you.”

“Oh, you can.” His stepmom let out a shaky giggle, “Can you?”

“I’ve been working out with Dad and Uncle Dig.”

Working out somewhat, yes. Although, he was his father’s boy after all. William sure took an interest in a girl named Gabi who trained at Wildcat gym

“Mm, pretty soon, he might just pass me up.” Her husband winked.

“Do you two think being cute is going to distract me?”

As Oliver gently placed Felicity on her seat, he responded with, “Mission accomplished,” which was echoed by William’s “Yup.” The trio’s eventful morning muddled into their Friday routine. Plates and utensils clinked when William set the table. Their blue Keurig percolated as Felicity brewed coffee, and pancake batter sizzled when Oliver poured his homemade mixture onto the griddle.

Tapping her shoulder, William wondered, “Hey, Felicity?”

“Yeah, Bud?”

“Do you think I can have a cup?”

“Of coffee?” She questioned incredulously, denying, “No way. Not happening.”

Her stepson groaned, wanting to be taken seriously, “Why not?” Though, his changing voice, squeaks and cracks didn’t help his argument.

“You’re thirteen, still too young. Besides, it’ll stunt your growth.” Oliver pointed out, flipping a hotcake.

“Dad, come on. That’s just a myth.”

Felicity offered, plucking another pod, “How ‘bout hot cocoa instead?”

“Ugh, it’s not the same.”

Stacking pancakes on a large platter, his father advised, “William Connor Clayton, watch your tone. Why are you in such a hurry to grow up anyway?”

“Terry’s mom lets him drink coffee.”

Ah, there it was, Terry Mcginnis. He was a NeoGotham transplant and assistant coach on William’s basketball team. At times, that kid was a real hero, although from what Bruce mentioned, McGinnis had a ways to go. William idolized the older teenager, aspiring to be just like him someday. After all, Mcginnis was cool. Unbeknownst to their kid, Oliver and Felicity knew Bruce took Terry under his bat wing because the world would always need a Batman.

Remembering the file Batman gave Overwatch, the hacker mentioned, “Terry’s sixteen. You’ve still got some growing to do before you can have a cup of Joe.”

“But—”

His dad cut in, “Ah, are we clear, son?”

“Not fair,” the thirteen year old muttered under his breath.

Felicity interjected, hands folded in her lap, “What was that?”

With an eye roll, William mumbled, “Yeah, sure.”

“You want to try that one again?”

“Yes, ma’am. And Dad, we’re crystal clear.” Their boy recited, giving them an unenthusiastic textbook apology.

“Thank you.”

The family ate their food in silence. Well, apart from the sound effects on Oliver and Felicity’s ends. They were so lovey dovey, whispering and sharing little smooches as if they were in high school.

Seeing how he merely picked at his short stack, Oliver prompted, “What’s going on, Bubba?”

“Stop calling me that. Like you said I’m thirteen.”

“You’ve barely touch your food, Will. You and I are usually scarfing your dad’s banana chocolate chip pancakes so fast, it’s a battle to the last bite. And they’re the silver dollar ones you love so much.”

Nibbling on his fifth fork full, Will mentioned, “I guess, I’m not that hungry.”

“Talk to us.”

“We’re not going to what’s bothering you unless you tell us.”

Annoyance and hormones bubbling to the surface, William shouted “I hate it here! Nothing works.”

“Hey!” Oliver piped up, a bit harsher than intended

“Honey.” Felicity advised, urging her husband to stay calm.

“We know things aren’t always easy, but, son, we have to deal with it. I spent five years…”

“Woah, woah, woah.” His wife whispered, leaning into him, “You, Samantha, and I agreed on the Lian Yu conversation after his eighteenth birthday.”

His father sighed, “You’re more fortunate than most. Be thankful for that.”

“I know, Dad. A lot’s changing.” William relented easily, muttering under his breath, “Why won’t you let me?”

“William, I…”

Before he could finish, his sentence, the trio heard a rapping at the door. Oliver peered through the peephole, spotting Thea and her fiancé Mackenzie in the hall.

Felicity joked, “Nobody’s home.”

Thea took the liberty of using her key.

“Ooh, she got you there,” Mackenzie noted, mouth forming a small ‘o’.

“Aunt T!” William gasped in relief, hugging his two favorite aunts. “Aunt Kenzie, you changed your hair. Cool!”

After a couple evil boyfriends since Roy and reconnecting with an old high school friend who moved to National City, Thea discovered a part of herself she kept locked away for a long time. She’s bisexual. Mackenzie was everything she could’ve ever wanted in a person. Confident, funny, strong, beautiful, oh so beautiful, and unafraid to call Thea out on her bullshit when needed. Plus she loved _Star Wars_ and is Mexican/Jewish. Hell, if Felicity was single and batted for the other team, she’d marry Mackenzie too. Though, the whole SCPD job might interfere with their hero work. And no one looked that damn good stepping off a Ducati. Kenzie’s tawny skin adorned with a natural beauty mark above her upper lip positively glowed in sunlight. Her dark wavy locks only had a few strands out of place, accentuating her features with a pop of vibrant pink streaks tucked away in the back.

Ruffling her nephew’s hair, Thea inquired. “Hey, dude. You save any pancakes for me?”

“I think we got one left.”

“Hi, Oliver.” Mackenzie greeted, kneeling down to give her future sister-in-law a hug, “Hey, Felicity.”

“How are you? We haven’t seen you two since Fourth of July.”

“Thea’s been keeping me busy.”

Oliver hoped, “Please say wedding stuff.”

“Of course.” Felicity presumed, pinching her husband’s arm.

He rubbed the spot, “Ow!”

“Big day is only four months away, but right now, we came to babysit our favorite little guy while you two lovebirds find a new crib.”

“We’ll need a crib soon,” Her sister-in-law thought.

Oliver tucked the dishes away in the sink while Felicity dug through her purse for car keys. They bid their family “see you later” before they made their way to the truck. Felicity rolled right up to the driver’s side. Oliver got the doors for her, an automatic chair lift extended out. Felicity positioned her wheelchair, locking herself in. Oliver made sure it was secure, and Felicity was situated on the driver’s side. Swapping her signature spectacles for a pair of Aviator shades, Oliver’s dimples pooled in his cheeks.

“We ready to do this?” Her husband mused, “Finally find a house of our dreams?”

“Uh-huh. We’re growing up nicely, aren’t we?”

He nodded, “So Estelle told us to meet her at that address on Alexander Avenue, right?”

“Yes, I have the directions all queued up and ready to go.”

Felicity started the ignition, engines rumbled. The duo sat there for few moments, letting her truck warm up.

“Felicity, I love you...”

Interesting way to spark a conversation, but it usually meant three things.

“Oh, God, Oliver. What do you want? Did you break my Q-Pad again? And Hell no, we are not getting busy in this car right now. Take your pick.”

“A) No, I didn’t touch your Q-Pad. Curtis got me the Q-Pad 11 for my birthday. B) Let’s hold off on the celebration ‘til we get home, and c) for the love of God, Baby. Please ease up on the steering wheel.”

“Aww,” Felicity teased in a cutesy tone, caressing his stubble, “Do my excellent driving skills scare the big bad Green Arrow?”

“Hell yes.” Oliver confirmed, kissing her hand, “What is this made of, lead?”

“Um, I think Clark and Kara would disagree. My hands are nimble, finely tuned, ladylike instruments. They’re extensions of my mind can do. Besides, I didn’t hear any complaining last Saturday night.”

“You won’t tonight.” Her husband whispered low in her ear, “Remember when we first moved into together.”

“Well, good sex was the only distraction to keep me from zapping  those wine moms with a PT laser. If we get find a house, and William’s asleep by ten, maybe.”

“Deal.”

They shook and smooched on it before driving off to their appointment. Disabled driving was different. However, Felicity got the hang of it after six months. Oliver, on the other hand, white-knuckled his passenger door whenever Felicity evaded red lights in the nick of time. They pulled up to a three story blue house.

“Oliver, relax. We’re here.”

She intertwined their fingertips across the center console, narrowly avoiding the emergency hand brake.

“Home sweet home.”

Felicity waved off, pushing herself to the chair lift “We’ll see.”

“I have a good feeling about this one.” Oliver noted, pressing the car remote. “We’ve been looking for three months.”

Felicity touched the ground. Landscaping was lovely — verdant and not too high maintenance with grass and a lemon tree. The walkway was a smooth concrete ramp heading straight to a red, yet inviting front door — a nice adaption to two usually large cumbersome steps. Oh, the outside of 720 Alexander Avenue was looking pretty good, but they needed to see the interior first.

“There’s my favorite power couple.” The Queens’ realtor Estelle declared in a heavy Gotham (New York) accent, ushering them into the foyer, “Trust me, you two won’t find a better place than this one.”

Flooring was a rich brown aged hardwood. Oliver and Felicity used to love dark hardwood, but with a kid and wheelchair, it was a pain in the ass to upkeep. So this shade was a good compromise.

“Here’s the living room, the furniture is for staging.” The elder lady directed, “But as you can see if it’s very accessible, modern, and spacious.”

The C.E.O. critiqued, pursing her pink glossed lips, “It’s roomy, but I’m not crazy about that crown molding.”

“Yeah, it’s straight out of the eighties.” Her husband concurred.”I like the fireplace.”

“The crown molding isn’t a structural piece, so it can be removed. To your left is a stunning view of the backyard.”

Felicity saw a glint in Oliver’s eyes. He could already see him grilling out here or playing catch with Will. A fire pit to roast s’mores would be sweet. Maybe they could add a trampoline, play set, and tire swing on one of those tall oak trees. The patio exit had a little bump, but that wasn’t huge deal.

Estelle wondered, “What do we think?”

“I like it,” Oliver admitted.

His wife mused, “It has potential.”

Honestly, Felicity loved it. Although, they couldn’t seem too eager. Next stop with the open floor plan was the kitchen, no walls separated it from the living room. A warm Tuscan familial space with sandy brown quartz countertop. It featured stainless steel modern appliances, a stove befitting of a chef’s dream complete with an overhead fan, rustic chrome fixtures, lots of cabinet space and a large sturdy island. Lines around Oliver’s eyes crinkled, complementing his boyish grin.

“The stove, the island has an extra sink, everything’s just perfect.” Oliver exclaimed, looking as gleeful as his wife when Tech Village agreed to sell QI’s Q-Pad.

“I take it Mr. Queen is a wonderful cook. All appliances are included.” Estelle smirked, thinking she got the sale.

“Oh, you have no idea. My husband is in his Disneyland, or in his case a Ducati dealership.” The blonde giggled, clearing her throat, “But of course we have to see the rest of the house before we make our final decision.”

The last room downstairs was a simple dining area — nothing too fancy but lovely for serving their large extended family.

“Oh, wow. You already have your own chair lift, Honey.” Oliver noticed, gesturing akin to Vanna White, “Wanna take it for a spin?”

“Why, I believe I do, Mr. Queen.” Felicity acknowledged, inquiring, “Estelle, who was the previous owner if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Ms. Wendy Harris worked at Wayne Enterprises in the IT department. You didn’t hear it from me, but Mr. Bruce Wayne personally asked her back to Gotham.”

His wife mouthed when their realtor looked at old files, “Wendy is Proxy.” complete with emphatic typing gestures.

“Shh.” Oliver shushed, resembling a hissing tire before his lips melded against hers.

The whir of this chair lift and new house excitement almost made Felicity forget they weren’t alone.

“What did you say, sir?” Estelle questioned, eyeing that kiss. “Aw, aren’t you two precious? You see Ms. Harris also had your, um, condition, Mrs. Queen.”

Felicity proclaimed with a confident chin raise, “I actually prefer the term paralyzed. Condition makes it seem like a disease. Paralysis is a disability, and while it’s taken time to relearn my body, I’m proud of who I am.”

Estelle gulped, flushing slightly. “Of course, Mrs. Queen.”

“You’re amazing. You know that, right?” Oliver whispered sweet nothings in her ear, setting down Felicity’s wheelchair.

With a fast transfer, the pair took a brief look at two guest rooms. One would be perfect for Will.

As far as the other, Felicity thought, “Hmm… Home office or nursery?”

“I think both will work eventually. Any news you have to share, Baby?”

_Frack! So she did say that out loud._

“Not yet, but one day soon hopefully.”

Her husband beamed with joy, hand resting atop hers. He took over pushing Felicity’s chair, “I’d love that with you any day.”

“Me too.”

“Here’s another room you two will love — the master bedroom.” Estelle continued, clacking heels muffled in the ornate maroon rug by the bed.

Lots of room to move around, spacious enough for a little private living room area for two. Floor-to-ceiling windows on one side. Thankfully, they’re adorned with a simple gray curtain. Balcony views of their backyard, a lavish en suite bathroom encased in sleek tan brown marble, dual vanity sinks, a tub, and voice-activated shower with no annoying tub to step over, this wasn’t a house. This was everything Felicity could ever want in a home, so thank you, Wendy Harris.

Their realtor announced, “If you love that, I think Mrs. Queen will really enjoy a look at our next room.

She escorted the couple over to a simple closet. If by simple, one could describe as the walk-in closet of any woman’s dream. Donna was the Smoak, who adored fairytales. Though, Felicity knew this closet was a room ripped from movies, like _Princess Diaries 2_ and _Sex and the City_ had a baby to create this wondrous space. Cream colored everything, floor-to-ceiling shelves, a full-length mirror, two huge dresser drawers to store makeup in the center, or as Oliver preferred lingerie, and a window to bring in gorgeous natural light.

“Felicity, Honey, you know we have to share this closet.”

“Oliver, my love, look at all the space for shoes, couture dresses, and did I mention designer shoes?”

“50/50” Her husband bargained.

His wife amended, “60/40. I get sixty.”

“So it sounds like we have a sale?” Estelle presumed.

Oliver and Felicity shared a knowing glance, lips ticking up in soft smiles.

The couple gave a harmonious, “Yes.”

This home would be well in the six digit range. However, considering people died on the third floor attic, which Proxy secretly converted into her own superhero sidekick lair, it was kind of a steal. Still chump change in the Queens’ wallets. Granted, they had some renovations. They returned to the loft just before lunch.

“So?” Thea waited expectantly.

Felicity blurted out, “We’re getting a house.”

“Congrats.” Mackenzie toasted her fruit punch.

Will cheered, “Yes!”

“I thought you’d love that news, son.”

“I really do.” His boy said, “But this time I get to decorate my own room.”

“Fair enough.” Felicity agreed, pulling her boys in for a group hug. One Oliver didn’t mind at all.

No longer would this happy family of three feel out of place in a broken down loft. Their home provided the Queens with all their wildest dreams, especially after renovations and move in day. But Oliver and Felicity would be happy in a little shoe box apartment as long as they had each other and their family. Their home grew even bigger in the next nine months after a celebration with some Sangrias and ice cream as a late night snack.


	7. I'm Not You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt 6:** Unintentional Discovery

“Eight, nine, ten” Felicity’s focus remains on curling those fifteen pound free weights while her rental hospital wheelchair is resting atop the parallel bars. Sweat sheathes over her slightly flushed skin. Oliver watches as the muscles in her arms quaver. Exertion pulls at old wounds, pain radiating from her right shoulder. But it’s a good soreness. Those sensations indicate she’s working hard. Felicity curls the dumbell towards her body.

Paul interrupts, “Felicity,”

“Hon,”

“Take a break.” Her physical therapist advises, lifting the exercise equipment from his patient’s grip. “10 reps, water break, and we’ll go again next appointment.”

Felicity insists, “I can do more. This is almost too easy.”

“Dr. Schwartz wants you to maintain your strength — not overdo it.”

“But..."

“Baby, you’ve done a lot today.” Oliver concurs, pressing a chaste kiss to the crown of her head. “I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

“You’re one to talk.” She grumbles, tightening her ponytail.

Weight-lifting is the closer to her sessions. It started with arm stretches, leg lifts with Paul testing her limits to improve circulation and flexibility. Standing on parallel bars with a body harness and bicep curls as a cool down.

He smirks, massaging his wife’s shoulders, “Heard that, Honey.”

They know that her paralysis is permanent. However, weekly physical therapy is akin to a gym membership Felicity never used. But both her primary care physician Dr. Liza Schwartz and her neurologist Dr. Henry Allen, therapy is beneficial for maintenance purposes as well as improving strength.

“You know you remind me a lot of Curtis.”

His client laughs, eyes wandering over his strong arms under those loose maroon scrubs, “Because we both have good taste in hot men.”

“ _Excuse me_?” Her husband snipes, forehead crinkling. “I’m right here.”

Paul blushes, “Well.”

“What? Was that weird?”

Oliver nods, “A little bit, yeah.”

“Come on. You know he bats for the other team. A look never hurt anyone.” His wife promises, holding Oliver’s hands, “You’re the only man for me.”

His lips tilt up in a soft smile, “Always nice to hear.”

“And?”

“You’re stuck with me whether you like it or not. We’re already married.”

“ _Oliver_!”

Felicity playfully jabs at him, although Oliver swiftly catches her fist. He sweetly pecks her knuckles.

Squatting down her level with a shake of his head, he whispers, “I love you too.”

“There you go.”

Her lips pucker. He leans in halfway, and their mouths meld in a passionate kiss, much too PG-13 for this hour. They don’t pull away. Her hands descend his spiky blonde locks, settling on her husband’s neck. Oliver’s stubble is longer during summer, soft, yet prickly against her skin. Thankfully, Felicity is Paul’s last patient. Her PT quietly leaves the couple be, going out pick up a delivery at the front desk. The Queens don’t how much time’s passed, but when they break apart, it’s nothing but them and fluorescent lights. Oliver’s ears perk up on a noise in the hallway, clicking. A constant noise reminiscent of when he was a kid, who used to stick his baseball card in between his bike tires. However, that wasn’t it.

Clearing his throat, Paul announces, “Mrs. Queen, your new throne awaits.”

“Woah.” Her husband whistles, “She’s a beauty!”

Felicity exclaims, doing her signature fist pump, “My new chair!”

Her new wheels are a thousand times better than this clunky rental. Curtis recommended it since his little brother Michael frequently used Quickie and TiLite brands for his new rides as he grew older before cancer took its toll. Felicity’s new baby is a striking electric plum, which pops against the black gel padded seats. It’s got a slightly higher back and better push rims. Removable armrests should help with transfers and zipping around the neighborhood. The frame is rigid, which means she can’t fold it up like the simple hospital one. But it would be much safer when going up ramps and driving eventually once Jax finishes modifying their truck.

“I’ve got to try this baby out right now.” The blonde hacker squeals, much like her mother. Though Oliver knows better and stays mum on that comment.

She trembles, upon using her arms in attempt to transfer.

“Hey, easy.” Oliver suggests, scooping his wife up and plopping her on the seat gently, “I gotcha. I gotcha, Honey.”

“I could’ve done it myself.”

“I know. That was for me more than you. Loving it yet?”

“Uh-huh. Let me take it for a spin.”

“Woah, woah, slow your roll there, Speedy.” Paul reminds, fetching her crimson tumbler, “Drink some water please. Oh, and just so you know those tires need air about every two to four weeks. And the handlebars have issues…”

Felicity sighs heavily, “Yes, Dad. We went over this with the TiLite rep.”

“Felicity Megan,” Her husband chides, lightly squeezing her shoulder.

After a huge gulp, his wife sneers, “Oliver Jonas.”

Paul lets out a hearty laugh, almost if he’s surprised to be doing so. However, the physical therapist should be used to this duo’s antics by now. Four months — every week he sees each one of patients hit highs and lows, but Felicity Queen is different because of her working relationship and friendship with Curtis.

“Okay. I’ll see you lovebirds next Friday at four.” Paul bids, lugging his duffel bag, “Felicity, work on those stretches at home.”

“Of course.”

“Oh, and take a look at Dr. Allen’s prescription, I added a little something.”

She reads aloud, “A glass of red wine, but not before meds, two scoops of mint chocolate chip ice cream as needed, a back rub and a date night with your hunky husband...”

“Hunky, huh?” The off-duty Emerald Archer interjects with a wide grin.

Dimples pool in Paul’s cheeks.

“Felicity’s not the only one with good eyesight. Too bad you swing for the other team.”

“Hey, hey. Back off, Holt.” Felicity claims, intertwining their fingertips, “He’s mine.”

“Always.” Oliver says, head swooping down for a quick peck.

His wife continues, “a massage, and most important of all, don’t be too hard on yourself.”

“You catching my drift, Queenie?”

“Loud and clear.”

“Good,” replies Paul as a heavy metal door creaks open, “Because healing takes time.”

Oliver assures, “I’ll keep an eye on her.”

“You always do. Thanks, Paul. Say hi to Curtis and Keisha for us.”

Felicity zips past the two men, gaining a second wind. She races down the hallway. Her smile is radiant and infectious. She resembles that same little girl who adored her first chemistry set from Donna. It cruises like a dream. Nice grip on the push rims, smooth turns, comfy gel-padded seat, and supportive back. Plus her biceps are going to look Michelle Obama level awesome. Exhaustion quickly catches up to Felicity, and she pushes down on her brakes before reaching the elevator.

Draping his gray zip up hoodie over her shoulder, Oliver muses, “You look happy.”

“It’s perfect.” Felicity acknowledges, panting slightly as she relishes in his comforting embrace.

“You also look tired.”

His wife scoffs, subsequently following a loud yawn, “I’d be more pissed off if that wasn’t true.”

“What I meant was let me take over. You relax. I’ll push your chair.”

The elevator dings, and doors slide open.

“Okay, but just this once.”

Nightly chill barely keeps Felicity awake when she and Oliver enter the underground parking garage. Oliver beeps their truck, and when his wife is safely tucked in the passenger seat. Her husband secures the vibrant purple and black chair in the trunk — careful to avoid nicks on Felicity’s new prized possession. Even breathing mingles with the rumbling engine.

Reclining the seat back for her, Oliver brushes a stray strand behind Felicity’s ear, “Get some rest, Baby.”

Felicity stirs when Oliver lifts her out of the car. Her eyelids fly open, nails digging into his arm.

“ _Oliver, Oliver_?"

“Shh, Hey, you’re safe. You’re safe.” He reassures, stroking her back, “I’m right here.”

Felicity can’t sleep any longer by the time they’re home. She settles into her new chair, tossing her maroon tank top and black yoga pants in the hamper. Oliver chops vegetables, preparing them for his umptious beef stew with carrots, mushrooms, potatoes, and all the fixin’s in his beloved slow cooker.

Taking a big whiff of her clean blouse, Felicity calls out, “Babe, I could use a shower. Help please.”

“My pleasure.” Oliver answers, voice rumbling in his throat.

Her husband bounds the stairs. She chews on her glasses frame, and Oliver examines a yellow discoloration on the tubes of Felicity's intermittent catheter. The blonde’s eyes flicker down her gray sneakers with highlighter green laces. Oliver offers her a warm smile, placing a disposable incontinence pad over their beige comforter. Felicity transfers onto their bed, sinking against her pillows. Her man washes his hands thoroughly. She stares up at the ceiling, counting the ripples in it. Felicity hears the telltale smack of a rubber glove. He spots his wife — teeth digging in her lower lip and twisting her rings incessantly.

Felicity starts, “I’m…”

“Don’t. Please stop apologizing every night. You never have to do that with me.”

She brings up again for the umpteenth time in months, “We can get a home care nurse. We have enough money.”

“We’ve been over this. I would do anything for you because I love you. It’s a part of the husband job description.”

Her lips press together in a pensive pout.

“Not exactly, Honey.” Felicity sputters, grunting softly when he gently removes the tubes.

She reaches for a baby wipe, cleaning between her legs. Fluids slosh when Oliver disposes of the contents from his wife’s catheter in the toilet. After a quick flush and hand wash, her husband reenters their boudoir.

He recites, “In sickness and in health. Remember?”

“Yeah, yeah.” His girl waves off, scooting to the side of their bed. “So you’ve told me.”

She lifts her half-naked body onto her wheelchair, heading straight for their master bathroom. Light bathes the room encased with modern fixtures and sandy brown marble in a romantic glow. Her shower chair squeaks against the stall’s floor. Oliver rounds her chair, stripping off his pea green T-shirt. He eases his dark blue jeans down, stepping out of weathered white boxers with a yellow tinge. Felicity hones in on a new scar in her husband’s collection - a healing pink knife wound on the side of his stomach. Her fingers graze it in a reverent touch — so tough, strong, and considering the fact Oliver is complexly naked in front of her, sexy.

“Felicity.”

She licks her lips, diverting those loud thoughts.

“Hmm?”

Oliver whispers, “You’re overdressed for this party, Baby.”

She grins, letting her husband take the lead. He raises her royal blue blouse, dropping it unceremoniously on the floor. Loving eyes travel over her bare body. Felicity looks to the door merely open a crack. Her arms are about to conceal her breasts like it’s their first time. Oliver grasps her hands, thumb rubbing over the gems on her rings. His knees crack, squatting in front of Felicity.

“How do you do that?” Felicity asks in a soft tone.

Eyebrow quirking, her husband inquires, “Do what?”

Look at her as if she's blanketed the sky with bright stars, look at her with such love, or with one single look make her feel loved — no matter what they’ve gone through these past few months.

“Never mind. It’s getting cold.”

As if he’s reading her mind, and at this point in their relationship, Oliver may as well be, his breath tickles her ear, “You’re beautiful.”

“Only a shower, buddy boy. No funny business. I’m too tired.”

“I know. Husband’s honor.”

Sometimes showers got sexy, but today was so long. Richard Drago kicked off this morning with a rudimentary bank heist. What had he planned to do with all that cash? At the very least, Team Arrow found one of Drago’s many hideouts. Felicity was up to her eyeballs in color swatches to design Walter’s office in Smoak Tech’s financial department. Oliver endured a press conference, vowing this villain will be taken into custody by the Anti-Vigilante task force. Felicity’s PT session nearly closed out their hectic days.

Warm water rained down on the duo. Felicity used to hate taking showers with Oliver after she was re-diagnosed with paraplegia. But now she revels in it. Heat soothes her aching muscles. He lathers soap on places she can’t reach. She gets his hair, chest, and torso amply sudsy. His calloused hands knead over tricky knots in her shoulders. A moan escapes Felicity’s mouth, reverberating against the shower stall.

His wife mewls, “Your hands are amazing.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” he chuckles.

That sentiment earns a swat to the chest, palm slipping in the soap.

“Ow!” Her husband feigns hurt, adopting a serious tone, “Careful, you’re wet.”

“Ha!” She snorts with a wry smile, “I’m not the only one who can make innuendos.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Oliver! Every damn time. Really?” Felicity giggles, noticing her husband’s very prominent erection.

He shrugs, unabashed in his current state, “You’re naked. I’m naked, so it’s bound to happen.”

In fairness, nudity and sounds Felicity make don’t help matters.

“Honey, shower, dinner. Not…”

“Tonight.” Oliver finishes, “I know you need your sleep.”

They pay extra special attention to one another’s scars, cleaning them carefully. Oliver and Felicity find it much easier to take their time. Thank goodness, the previous homeowner installed a state-of-the-art water heater. Despite lack of feeling, Felicity senses how delicate Oliver’s hands are on her back and legs — hands turned into weapons have a calming touch over her slick skin. A shudder wracks her body, and the pair indulges in one sole kiss before Felicity takes care of Oliver. He flinches as she washes the more recent wound. Right before the couple dries off, Felicity smooches the same spot. Wrapped in their respective green and pink fluffy towels, Oliver and Felicity get dressed.

They retreat down to the kitchen for some chow. Oliver’s beef stew may be more fitting for autumn or winter. However, it’s thick, rich, hearty, and comforting — a wonderful reminder of peaceful moments they share together. The only people who would make it better is if William, Samantha, and Thea were all here. However, the Claytons are at a family barbecue in Central City. Thea and Mackenzie are celebrating their engagement on Amalfi Coast. Felicity hopes to make good use of the red wine perscription, yet Oliver grabs the bottle neck of their aged Malbec.

Felicity snaps, fiery azure eyes pinning his. “Oh, you better have a good reason for interrupting my perfect pour.”

“I do. How about some hot cocoa, so you can take two tablets for that pain you’re still feeling?”

“How-how did you... Ugh, what gave me away?”

Oliver points out, “I know you. Plus you bit your lip and arched your back when you reached for the spoon.”

“Damn it.” She mutters under her breath, a sharp twinge hitting the center of her spine.

The shower helped, but she’d be a bit sore after a physical therapy session for a day or so. Felicity nurses a sip of ice cold water. Oliver retrieves a light green wool blanket and a cushion to alleviate some pressure. Plus Felicity’s legs have a tendency to be freezing in her current predicament. He brews a nice cup of hot chocolate and brings it to his wife before she moves a muscle.

He declares proudly, “I even remembered the mini-marshmallows.”

“You don’t have to wait on me hand and foot.” Felicity groans.

Cupping her face, he reminds, “You’ve had a long day. You deserve it.”

She nods regretfully, gripping his wrists. Felicity swallows her pain meds. The clock strikes 8:30PM when Oliver discovers his wife already asleep on her side of the bed.

* * *

 

**_Felicity’s Nightmare_ **

The blonde hacker is alone in their old loft. Oliver’s away on a political conference about global warming in National City. A lot of his naysayers claim it’s another “crunchy hippie project” However, Felicity is a woman of science It’s an important issue. Or maybe Oliver simply wanted to get away from her for a week. Lyla and Paul handle their friend’s home care needs while John handles crime out on the rests with Wild Dog and Black Canary while Mr. Terrific mans comms. Curtis honestly thinks he’s helping his boss who has an upcoming presentation in front of Smoak Tech investors. Maybe the team is phasing her out the job too.

Pushing those doubts out of her, Felicity waters the lush fern in their living room. She pops three pains meds on the counter where Lyla brought her chicken tikka masala with a spicier kick.

A familiar voice taunts, “Aw, why didn’t I get any party favors?”

“Hello. Is anyone there?”

“Three pills? That’s it. You used to handle a lot more than that in front of Coop. You’ve gone soft, Smoak.”

Racing around the living room, Felicity huffs, “Okay, listen whoever you are. You picked the wrong night to mess with the wrong girl.”

“Really? If that were true, you wouldn't be holed up in this joint.”

“This is crazy.” Felicity believes, hands sweeping through her blonde locks. “I’m not talking to myself.”

Goth Felicity smirks, “Not exactly.”

“Oh, no.”

Plopping her combat boots on an ottoman, her former self eggs on, “Surprise.”

“You, again!” Felicity growls, “What do you have to show me Ms. Bitch of Hanukkah’s past?”

“Ha! You realized since you were me that you called yourself a bitch.”

“I heard it.”

“The blond hair, a shiny ring on your finger, playing hero again. Look where it’s gotten for the second time in your life. Come on, did you think that nerdy friend of yours can somehow miraculously cure paralysis twice?”

Felicity grits, “He’s working on it.”

“You know the say, ‘fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.’” Her counterpart recents, shrugging off her leather jacket. “Look where it’s gotten you — a permanent seat for the rest of your life.”

“Get the fuck out! I’m not you and I haven’t been for a long time.”

“So you say? But you’re the one who brought me here.”

Lips pursing, the blonde hacker wonders, “What do you mean?”

“You’re a smart girl. You figure it out yourself.”

Her phone rings with a call from Dinah.

“Right on schedule,” Goth Felicity taps her vacant wrist like a watch

Sighing heavily, the hacker inquires, “Di, what’s going on?”

“Actually, Overwatch. I’m out in the field with the boys. Mister Terrific is tied up with Drago’s cronies…”

“Wow.” Her doppelganger whistles, mouth forming a small ‘o’, “Looks like you’ve been demoted to second string.”

“What do you need, Black Canary?” Felicity continues, narrowing her eyes at the interloper.

“Laser trip wires, the kind of tech, you eat for breakfast. Can you disarm them?”

With an air of confidence, her teammate reminds. “What’s my code name?”

“Overwatch.”

“So I got it covered.”

Indeed with a matter of seconds, laser are gone.

Spartan grins under his helmet, “That was badass, Fel.., Overwatch.”

“Ugh.” Goth Felicity fakes a gag, “What’s next? Rainbows? Friendships makes me want to vomit in my mouth, and I thought it was just an expression.”

“Same here.” Felicity Queen says.

Her laptop is overloaded with too many requests as she tracks each member of the team. Drago’s crones dressed like snakes lock Mister Terrific in an empty holding cell

“Guys? I can’t get to my T-Spheres! Harbinger’s system is shutting me out.”

Spartan checks in, “Overwatch, what’s going on?”

“I-I don’t know. My laptop is fritzing. I can’t.”

“Oops,” Goth Felicity laughs smugly, black lips contrasting her stupid Cheshire grin.

Rene fires his gun at the fancy automatic lock. Sparks and smoke billow out of it, although that damn door is sealed shut.

Wild Dog reports, “Relax, mama. We got this.”

“Black Canary, you’re up.” Spartan orders complete with voice modulator, punching out a rogue on his six.

Curtis covers his ears while Dinah uses her cry, splitting the titanium restraints on the door. Wild Dog and Black Canary kick it open together.

“Oh, I’m okay.” Mister Terrific assures, giving a thumbs-up sign, “They got me.”

Goth Felicity teases, “No, thanks to you.”

Felicity Queen settles on the black leather sectional with a gray blanket and the thriller novel, _Along Came a Spider_ by James Patterson.

“So?” Felicity Queen hopes, “You gonna sit on your ass all this time? Or do you have something important to say other than these lame jabs you’ve been throwing at me?”

Fiddling with a purple streak in her hair, her younger self prompts, “Wait for it.”

“Wait for what?”

Her tablet rings with a video call from Oliver.

His handsome face appears on screen, “Hey, beautiful.”

“Hi, are you in a limo?”

“Yeah.” He admits, “I’m actually on my way home.”

“Really?” She hopes, pitch rising with excitement.

“Yep. I missed you. I’m turning the corner right now.”

“Okay, I love…”

Oliver cut the call before his wife could finish her sentence.

“You know he’s doing this because he feels sorry for you, more sorry than you feel for yourself. That’s why he’s with you. Can’t you see that you’re another one of his little charity cases he has to fix? Roy, Dinah, Rene? And with you, he just can’t help himself.”

“That’s not true.”

“Come on. You think that big ass diamond ring on your finger changes anything? You can even do the one you were supposed to be able to do.”

“Look I…”

Felicity hears a knob twisting, Oliver appears with his maroon tie undone.

His brows furrow, “Who were talking to? I could hear your voice from outside.”

“No one.” She admits, correcting, “Just myself, I guess.”

“Go ‘head, tell him you’re hallucinating. That will go over like Gangbusters.” Goth Felicity prods, sitting beside Oliver. “Tell him you’re seeing things, you’re hearing voices, you doubt yourself so much that Mr. Lame balls almost got captured again. Tell him, Felicity. Tell him.”

Looking to the side, her fist clenches.

“Hey, What’s going on? Talk to me, Felicity.”

“Look at that, you’re useless.”

“Baby, John told me what happened tonight, and it’s not your fault.”

Goth Felicity chimes, “Oh, but it is.”

“You are the smartest, most capable person I know.”

“Not anymore.” Her doppelganger quips.

“You just need some time, and I know you’ve been under a lot of stress.”

Goth Felicity scoffs, “Yeah, like that’s the problem.”

Oliver and Ms. Bitch from Hanukkah’s past voices are mind-numbing. They’re talking over one another. Felicity Queen sweats, growing more annoyed with each passing word.

“I want you to know that I…”

“Shut up!” His wife yells.

Oliver stares at her, wide-eyed, wondering what he’s done wrong.

“Nice move, Smoak.” Her former self pokes, wanting a high-five.

Staring her down, Felicity demands, “Can I be alone for a minute please?”

“I just got home.” Her husband reminds.

“No, no, it’s not you.”

Goth Felicity checks him out, “It’s her. Isn’t it?”

“Get out!”

“Okay.” Oliver appeases, rubbing the back of his neck, “I’m going to give you some space. After a week, I thought you’d be happy to see me.”

“Oliver, Honey, I am.”

Despite her protests, Oliver heads straight for the front door.

“Hey, hey, Honey.” Felicity pleads, emotion choking her as her voice trembles, “Oliver, honey, come back. Come back!”

* * *

 

**_Present Night (Queen Family Home)_ **

“Come back!”

Oliver nudges her shoulder.

“Babe, get up.” He alerts, “You’re having a nightmare.”

She gasps, eyes adjusting to darkness. Felicity’s hands travel down his face, over those familiar abs, and squeezes the husky wedding band on his finger. She hastily switches on the lamp from her nightstand. Oliver’s face crumples at the sudden change.

“I love you. You know that, right?”

“Right backatcha, but we need to talk about what happened.”

“No, no.” His wife objects, using her hands to let her legs dangle off the side of their bed, “I want some hot milk.”

“Well, I can make it for you.”

“Honey, grab my chair please. You have to let me do...”

Felicity understands her vision is blurry without her signature specs, but the blank wall appears topsy turvy. The usually happy blonde rubs sleep from her eyes Regardless, she lifts herself up off the bed as Oliver wheels her chair closer, feeling a little woozy. Before Oliver gets the chair in position, Felicity collapses, halfway on the maroon rug and hardwood floor.

“Felicity, Honey, wake up!” Oliver pleads, dropping to his knees. He checks her pulse point, voice breaking, "Wake up, Honey. Come on! Stay with me! God, I-I can’t lose you.”

Felicity is conscious when paramedics arrive on site, but she was still out cold for awhile. Too long. An ambulance rushes the Queens to Starling General. A gurney bursts through double doors with EMT’s alerting, Dr. Danvers, an ER doc on the graveyard shift, of Mrs. Queen's vitals. Oliver runs alongside like this is his own Hell come to life. They get her in a room.

“Oli-Oliver,” Felicity breathes weakly through an oxygen mask.

A male nurse won’t have civilians enter the room, pushing the mayor back against a wall.

“I’m not leaving her!”

“Oliver!” His wife’s voice trembles.

Dr Schwartz advises, “You have to let them work on her. We won’t know what’s going on ‘til we get in there.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Baby. I swear.”

His heart stutters, though it’s nothing compared to what the love of his life may be feeling. At the very least, she’s awake. But Felicity’s paralyzed. Dr. Allen and Dr. Schwartz warned them about complications down the road — pressure sores, bladder infections, C. Difficile infection, and toxic anemia. What if this is it? What if these are those same complications, or worse? The ticking clock drives him mad. Oliver sinks into a waiting room chair, staring at that damned blue door. Medical personnel inform him that they’re running various tests. Sun rises, and he hasn’t slept a wink.

“Hey, man.”

“Curtis, Paul? What are you two doing here?”

Paul notes, “Liza called me.”

“Oliver.” Curtis assures, sitting on his haunches beside his mentor, “She’s going to be fine.”

“You don’t know that. Hot milk, that’s the last thing we talked about. She wanted to get it herself, and I should have been more insistent. Felicity was so tired. What if..?”

Her PT reminds, “Don’t go there. She’s stronger than us all of us.”

“Where’s Keisha? You two probably want to get back to your little girl.”

“It’s fine. We dropped off to John and Lyla right before we came here. She loves hanging out with Sara and J.J.”

With phone in hand, the former Olympian mentions, “And I’m going to keep ‘em posted.”

“I’m okay.” Felicity promises dressed in a blue hospital gown as a handsome male nurse wheels her into a recovery room.

“Felicity, Baby, I was so worried about you.”

“Oliver, Dr. Schwartz will give us my test results soon in the room.”

Paul comments, “Well, that was a short trip.”

“What he means is we’re glad you’re okay, boss. Make sure you two eat.”

“Yes, Dads.” Their friend quips.

Oliver is anything but relaxed when at his wife’s bedside. Dr. Schwartz recommended an IV drip purely for hydration purposes. The rhythmic beeping from her heart monitor signal she’s okay.

Yet, her husband needs to know, “Are you sure…?”

“ _Yes._  Look, whatever this we’ll get through it together. We’re a team, and I’m going to be okay.”

“I’m okay as long as you’re alright.”

“Oliver, take it easy…”

“I’m supposed to say that to you, Mrs. Queen.” The brunette physician speaks up, stepping into the room with her patient’s chart.

“Liza, I mean, Dr. Schwartz, it’s good to see you again. Well, not great considering the circumstances, but you know what I mean.”

Felicity adores, “Isn’t he cute when he babbles?”

“Huh, I’m guessing you got no sleep at all, Mr. Mayor.”

The bags under his eyes speak for themselves.

“I dozed off for two minutes about an hour ago. Does that count?”

The doctor shakes her head, “Okay, Felicity. You have a mild concussion from your fall, so we want to keep you overnight for observation. Also, your iron levels are a little low, so it’s best to keep a close eye on that.”

“Is that what caused my dizzy spell?”

“Actually, it’s fairly common, considering your current condition.”

Perplexed, Oliver guesses, “Her paraplegia?”

“No. Wow, you really don’t know. When we administered a routine blood test, your HCG levels are high.”

Realization dawns upon Felicity.

After a long beat, she dares to ask, “I’m pregnant?”

“Eight weeks.” Her physician confirms with a radiant smile. “Congratulations.”

Well, that’s certainly an unintended discovery. No, life begets another, which seems to be the Queens’ unfortunate track record. Rather they’ll welcome a new little human being in seven short months. Thankfully, Oliver doesn’t black out, but his butt becomes a magnet to that metal chair. Needles and bland food are a hassle, but Felicity has the best support system around. Curtis returns with his husband, stunning red roses, and a “Get Well Soon”. Rene stops by just after lunch at Big Belly Burger with Zoe and Quentin — tiny toy puppy in tow. Dinah and Lya bring by _Wired_ and _Cosmo_ magazines. Dig is on babysitting duty, but sends an extra hug from Lyla. Oliver and Felicity video chat with Samantha and William. From there, gossip spreads like threats to Star City in their group. Curtis blabs to Thea and her fiancée. Quentin can’t avoid Donna, so everyone’s aware of the exciting news. Oliver and Felicity understand her pregnancy is a higher risk than some expectant moms. They endure a group consult from her neurologist, primary care physician, and OBGYN on site, but at the end of the third trimester, they’re going to have a baby.

An attendant stops by with an elderly janitor by nightfall. Moonlight gleams through vertical blinds. Felicity is on the edge of slumber, and Oliver nearly so as well, resting his head atop her blanketed legs.

“Visiting hours are over, Mr. Queen.”

He retorts with a sharp breath, his voice groggy, “I’m the mayor. I can do what I want.”

“Ah,” Felicity tacks on, hand sifting through his hair, “Get my husband a pillow.”

The attending head nurse obliges, “Yes, ma’am.”

Starling General patients are always right. With one eye open, Felicity flips off who Oliver assumes is the head nurse. However, Goth Felicity leaves the room, liking the moxy that’s still a part of her. Felicity isn’t that girl anymore. She’s a hero, wife, mother, and CEO of a Fortune 500 company. That’s pretty fucking awesome in her book.


	8. Under Covers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt 7:** Comfort
> 
> As the self-proclaimed "Princess of fluffy fic" I actually went the most _Arrow_ on HBO as you can get by my standards because I wrote this before we got the prompt, and worked it into this chapter. Oops! I do hope you enjoy it and spot the Easter eggs. Those were fun. 
> 
> Fair warning: I used Google Translate, so there's that. But Eugene speaks Hindi, Dimitrij and Emma speak Dutch, Azi speaks Arabic, and of course Anatoli speaks Russian.

“Ninety-eight, ninety-nine, one hundred.” Oliver finishes his daily round of push-ups over his wife whose face is beaming with a beatific grin. Bed springs creak under his ministrations. The heroes have barely broken a sweat, and Felicity usually prefers to use this Presidential suite for an activity requiring a lot less clothes. EDM beats drown out their conversation purposefully.

“We role played sexy stuff last night, Felicity.” Her husband huffs, driving up and down as if he’s thrusting his hips against hers.

“Hm, we could do a whole lot more than role play, my love.”

“Mission first. Fun later.”

Felicity rolls her eyes and fakes a lustful moan for good measure. Dimples pool in his cheeks.

She snipes poignantly, “What?”

“You’re usually louder than that, Honey.”

“Oh, is that how you want to play it, my love?” His wife retorts, pushing Oliver’s bare chest, pinning him back against the sheets with a grunt. He laughs, lifting his wife with him. Her arms will soon match Michelle Obama’s level, compensating for what she can no longer do with her legs. In fairness, Oliver lets Felicity have her way with him in the bedroom, “Well, in that case, for realism, you know I like it on top.”

He smirks, calloused hands adjusting her cold legs between his. “Yeah, I do. But need I remind you, Felicity, you signed us up for spy duty.”

“The Vacios may not be from Star City, but they need our help.” Felicity reminds. “This is who we are. It’s what we do.”

Her mouth plunders his, harsh, dominating, and passionate. One which causes a guttural groan to rumble against her lips. His eyes widen when she snakes her tongue past the seam of his lips. She can’t feel his palms giving her ass a playful squeeze in response, but that boyish grin is a dead giveaway.

Across the street at a nearby hotel, a security guard for the Markovian Prime Minister’s family monitors the Queens’ body heat signatures with her client Emma Vacio and the first daughter’s fiancé Eugene Sequeira.

“Ya Allah (Oh God)” Emma’s bodyguard, Azila exclaims, appearing utterly scandalized as she wishes to conceal the possibly obscene view behind her navy blue hijab, “Are we sure these two American heroes are going along with your father’s plan, madam?”

Her comm beeps, Overwatch promises, “Strictly professional.”

Though the breathy giggles and kissing sounds speak otherwise.

“Uh-huh.” Green Arrow sans suit continues, “Not our first UC gig, Azila.”

In an accent half-Markovian (Eastern European) and Dutch, Emma vouches with an emphatic hand gesture, “See? Nothing to worry about, my friend. Oliver and Felicity are very good at portraying myself and my geliefde (sweetheart).”

Emma lightly scratches her betrothed’s neatly trimmed beard. He squats down, holding his fiancé brakes before a chaste smooch.

Azila sighs, “Two of them. I did not think it was at all possible.”

However, a wry smiles creases on her  lips.

“Rest assured, Azi. This plan will ensure Emma’s safety. That is of the utmost importance to me.” Eugene concurs, Hindi lilting through English. “I do not think our American friends planned such an excursion.”

* * *

  ** _Three Days Ago_**

Beyond the various terminals at Star City International Airport, Oliver and Felicity park their huge Range Rover near the tarmac reserved for private jet services.

His wife prompts, tucking her Aviator shades in the collar of her loose pale pink blouse, “Your jet or mine, my love?”

Felicity isn’t kidding. They have his and hers jets. Oliver has a plane which rivals Madame President Susan Brayden’s Air Force One — an aircraft he can pilot himself if need be. Felicity also owns a Bombardier Global for corporate travel. Each plane sits dormant in the private area with fuel hoses sticking out of it. Aircrafts are kissed by clear blue skies with nary a cloud in sight as maintenance crews diligently go through their routine.

Oliver takes a swig of his black coffee. Felicity reaches for his hand across the center console, garnering her husband’s attention away from the car window.

“You okay?”

After a long beat, her husband answers, “Uh... Well, Markovia and the States are exactly extending an olive branch to each other at the moment, and there’s—”

“Anatoli and the whole Russian mob is what were you were going to say.”

Oliver’s lips press together in a thin line, confirming Felicity’s suspicion. However, they’re both personally invited by POTUS herself, seeing as Mayor Queen’s climbing up the political ladder to Washington senator by 2018. Plus, his head and heart remain intact, not falling prey to smarmy behavior and scandal. Also, it’s an international charity gala in support of aiding young women in STEM. How can Felicity say no to an opportunity like that?

“Let’s take mine, Felicity.”

There’s a sentence Oliver never thought he’d say again. He opens a side door, unfolding Felicity’s ramp.

Rubber hits road.

“Thanks, Hon.” Felicity obliges, pressing on her brakes. She points at a green hardshell case and a smaller purple one. “I always come prepared.”

Thank goodness, they’re taking a private jet because very sharp pointy arrows and T-Spheres which are a slew of weapons in one ball would be difficult to explain to airport security. Oliver carries Felicity bridal style up the steps while a husband and wife flight attendant duo bring the rental chair to the cargo area of Oliver’s plane.

The blonde hacker whispers, “I honestly don’t care if they break that piece of shit. It doesn’t fit me right. Hell, I almost fell out of it. I need my own chair.”

“I know. I know. But thanks to Curtis, you’re getting your new wheels as soon as we can squeeze Dan in for an appointment.”

Oliver plops Felicity down on a plush leather seat— careful not to pull at the long extended tubing of her catheter. The port and tubes are hidden under her long beige maxi skirt and the bag is smartly concealed with a pillow case tucked in last season’s Marc Jacobs large denim tote. She applies chapstick, fishing for the latest issue of _M.I.T. Technology Review_ while Oliver signals to their pilot that they’re ready for take off. The captain cracks a joke over the intercom.

Felicity giggles, “Oh, Hal, stop it.”

“Yeah, Hal, stop it.” Oliver thinks, biting his tongue as jealousy courses through his veins.

“Oliver, relax.”

Fuck, he spoke out loud.

“Carol sends her love by the way, Felicity.” The pilot interjects, voice cracking over the intercom, “Oliver, why didn’t you get Fleet Feet to play taxi?”

“He’s busy, Jordan. Can we go now or what?”

Hal prods, “Okay, Robin Hood. No need to get your Kevlar undies in a bunch”

Felicity thumbs through her magazine while Oliver brushes up on French, Belgium, and Luxembourg political relations with thin volumes his assistant Jett loaned him It’s what he gets for learning everything has to know about government from binge-watching the _West Wing_ on Hulu with Thea. Bored to tears with reading, lunch is a welcome reprieve. After losing a few hands of Gin Rummy to his wife, Oliver’s back on task. When the couple lands, annoying flashbulbs and a trusted security detail greet them.

They retreat back to their hotel. The light blue pillow case with Felicity’s catheter rests atop a massive Baroque chair. Clothes are scattered on the brown carpeted floor. A neighboring church steeple shadows the afternoon sun. Oliver drapes Felicity’s legs over his calf like she loves. Their lower halves are tangled up in thin white sheets.

“I wanted to see the sights,” Felicity mumbles sleepily, palm dwarfing the scar where Oliver’s Bratva tattoo once resided.

Oliver cheekily directs his wife to the historical thirteenth century Gothic structures outside their windows interspersed through a few modern buildings and tall skyscrapers. That response earns him a soft whack with a cushion tucked under her hips.

He feigns, “Ow!”

“Hey,” She notices, fingertips skimming her chest, “Did you leave a hickey on my boob?”

“I didn’t hear any complaining.”

No complaints during their alone time together at all. Oliver pays extra special attention to her breasts, scars, and other sensitive areas. Unfortunately, orgasms for Felicity are pretty much impossible in her current state. Although, it certainly doesn’t mean sex isn't pleasurable. Women have multiple erogenous zones, and Oliver knew how to work them well before Felicity became paralyzed. Besides they revel in the emotional intimacy, passion, love, and physical closeness.  Beard burn litter her cheeks and lower back. Their lips are swollen and chapped from overuse. He's feasted on her skin as she did his, flushed pink from their previous afternoon activity.

“The gala is tonight. What if people see these?”

“No one’s going to notice those. Your dress will cover ‘em. But I might have to borrow your concealer since you left me this little present.”

A red love bite adorns Oliver’s own neck, precisely on his pulse point. Small bruises will later form on his thighs from their exertions.

Felicity reiterates with a smirk, “I didn’t hear any complaining.”

“Are you alright?” Oliver checks in, cupping her face. Concern washes over him, scouring her nude body for any signs of pain she can no longer sense.

With Felicity’s re-diagnosis, the couple is more vocal in the bedroom — further than solely describing sensations and dirty talk. Oliver and Felicity used to check in with each other via eye contact, watching each other, and listening to one another. However, now they’re much more verbal than before, during, and after an intense romp or gentle lovemaking.

“Yeah.” She swears, nails raking over his scarred back. Oliver’s eyes drape shut, purring like a big jungle cat. “Are you?”

“Mm-hm.”

The pair takes a quick shower, later succumbing to a brief power nap together. By nightfall, Felicity smears her magenta lip stain, distracted by her handsome husband pulling up those suspenders over his white button up shirt.

“Oliver, can you finish getting ready in the bathroom?”

Her husband inquires, eyebrow quirking, “Why?”

“If I have to watch you any longer, it’s round two right here, right now.”

“Okay.”

“No, no, no.” Felicity refuses adamantly, shoving him towards their en suite bathroom, “Charity Gala. Dinner. Go now.”

After reapplying her lipstain, she fidgets in her chair. Felicity fiddles with a stray curl behind her ear before she smooths out the invisible wrinkles in her royal blue long sleeve gown with tasteful cutouts, showing a tiny glimpse of her toned abdomen.

A door creaks open. Oliver greets suavely, “Hey, Gorgeous.”

“Nice try, but still no.”

“Damn it.”

Closing the clasp on her patent leather onyx clutch, she places it in her lap. Felicity pushes herself out of the room. The apples of her cheeks brighten because she's aware of that look. He may not have a great view of her ass, but there’s a tenderness in his azure eyes, watching her move with precision, grace, and confidence — chair or no chair.

“Honey, come on. Come on.” His wife calls out, already waiting for the elevator. “If we miss Malala’s speech, well, I hope you enjoy the couch tonight.”

On that note, Oliver races down the hall like the building’s on fire. They drive over to a stunning old opera house approximately twenty kilometers away from the Markovian Consulate in Markoburg. Luckily, the couple doesn’t fail the night. To be honest, it’s a bit strange to see Felicity as William would say “fangirl” over a remarkable young woman eighteen years her junior, but they’re both strong, bright, and powerful people. So he can see why Felicity is so elated to see Ms. Yousafzai. They mingle with international political dignities, female scientists at the top of their field, much like Felicity Queen herself, and other distinguished guests. Some of which include Kansas senator, Martha Kent, who’s whisked Oliver away to the bar. They politely toast a shot of Tennessee whiskey straight no chaser while Felicity indulges in an umptious crab puff.

“Lovely seeing you too, Senator Kent.” Oliver bids, making a beeline for his wife, “I’ll be sure to give Clark, Lois, and Kara your regards.”

With a mouth full, his wife wonders, “What are you two crazy kids up to?”

“I think," her husband replies, kneeling down in front of Felicity, “Senator Kent unofficially asked me to be her running mate in the 2020 election.”

“But it’s two years away.”

“Apparently, it’s a part of her five year plan.”

“Well, are you going to..?”

Her question is cut off by a secret service member wearing an all black suit and an American flag pin, similar to the one on Oliver’s lapel.

“Mayor Queen, the President has requested a moment of your and Mrs. Queen’s time.”

“Of course.” The power couple responds simultaneously.

Usually, it’s the other way around. But Oliver’s approval ratings have shot up at the end of second year. POTUS and Felicity have also crossed paths at various charity events. And then of course there’s the intergalactic multi-universe initiative President Brayden has with Oliver and Felicity Queen, Arthur and Mera Curry, Kendra Saunders and Carter Hall, Clark Kent, Kara Danvers, J’onn J’onzz and M’gann M'orzz, Hal Jordan, John Stewart, Barry, Allen, Bruce Wayne, and Diana Prince. They really have to think of a name for themselves.

“Oliver, Felicity, I see you finally accepted my invite.” Her voice drops to a whisper, “And pulled yourselves away from the Justice League.”

“With all due respect, ma’am, we don’t call ourselves that. It’s silly.”

Felicity chimes, “Actually, I do.”

“Madame President, why are we here?”

“Not that we don’t appreciate the invite,” the blonde hacker adds.

“First of all, cut the formal act, Oliver. You, Roger, Felicity, and I have been friends for a good year now.”

“Fine, Sue. What’s going on?”

“I simply wanted to introduce you to some friends of mine.”

Three people filter in from the Commander-in-Chief’s wall of security. The balding man twists an ornate yellow gold ring around his slim finger. A red-headed woman presses on her brakes with a kind smile, and the younger gentleman waits for a handshake.

“This is Markovian Prime Minister Dimitriij Vacio, his lovely daughter, Emma, and Emma’s fiancé, Eugene Sequeira.”

Before anyone utters a single word, a barrage of bullets pop throughout the room from a vacant automatic machine gun. Emma and Felicity tremble, respectively remembering their fateful nights. There’s more security detail in here than Fort Knox. Guests duck down under tables. Security springs into action, protecting their clients. Alarm rises amidst screams, yet each patron is safe.

“Everybody down!”

Warning shots are fired toward the ceiling. Who would be foolish enough to shoot in a roomful of people with weapons or the genius to create WMDs out of household products? Waiters reveal themselves. Starred tattoos on their necks and hands make it painfully clear to Oliver — the Bratva’s handy work. The group demands all bystanders leave or else. Six men trap the Queens, Vacios, and President Brayden.

“Gadha! (Jackass!)” Eugene grits, shielding Emma which mirrors how Oliver protects Felicity, “Hawal 'an yadura khatibati. (He tried to hurt my fiancé.)”

A familiar voice instructs, “Uspokoysya, mal'chik. Day mne devushku, i nikto ne postradal.(Calm yourself, boy. Give me the girl and no one gets hurt.)

“Anatoli, why?”

“It does not matter why, Oliver.” The Prime Minister orders, finality dripping through his tone, “Guards, shoot them.”

Two female guards have their weapons trained on Bratva’s lackeys, yet those brutish oafs are faster. The Pakhan steps forward, stopping his men. His fingertips dig painfully in Emma’s wrist, checking for a microchip embedded under the skin. Eugene fist clenches, but with so many weapons in the room remains still.

“Let go of me!” The Prime Minister’s daughter shrieks.

She slaps him hard across the face. The Bratva boss doesn’t flinch. A knife glint shines from a leather holdster on his hip. Oliver vaults forward, hating the fact that he leaves his wife unattended. Oddly, the Pakhan gets a call from an apparent higher-up before his former mafia brothers hold the Emerald Archer down like a wild, rabid animal. With a simple button push, a bomb creates the perfect cover for the Russian mob to escape. Felicity diffuses the device with a an old Macintosh computer in a run down A/V booth.

“Emma!” Dimitrij runs to his little girl, kissing her forehead repeatedly.

Emma grabs his wrists, “Papa, what did they want my homeostasis chip?”

“Not here, Dimitrij.” POTUS delegates, “Dwayne, we need to head to the safehouse now. Green Arrow, Overwatch, that means you too.”

It’s difficult to ignore orders from a leader of the free world. Dimitri’s eyes shine with regret as the group ventures to an abandoned mansion northeast of the Markovian consulate. Dust bunnies live in the crown molding. White tarps drape over furniture straight out of the 1980’s.

Overwatch whistles, “Wow, what decade was this place used last?”

“ _Felicity_."

Eyes seething with venom, Emma demands, “Father, what the Hell is going on?”

Dimitrij’s gaze flits over to Sue’s, and the President offers a nod of approval.

“Your homeostasis chip was not solely for such a purpose.”

Sue apologizes, “Oliver, Felicity, I’m sorry.”

“For what, _Madame President_?”

She fills in, pinching her furrowed brow, “The microchip in Emma’s arm is a contingency to eliminate any and all members of the Justice League, should anyone go rogue.”

Oliver and Felicity share a glance with baited breaths.

“You are truly him?” The ginger socialite asks in disbelief, “You are, Groene Pilj (Green Arrow)?”

“Yes.”

Felicity jabs his bicep, “What secret identity?”

“The bigger questions are why are we involved? Isn’t this a job for the F.B.I. Interpol, or NSA?”

“ _Oliver_ ," His wife draws out

“Even A.R,G.U.S. doesn’t have Wells’ tramsmogrification device.”

The Prime Minister mentions, “For the safety of my little prinses (princess). I need the pair of you to impersonate Emma and Eugene until we can catch these klootzakken (sons of bitches).”

Before Oliver delivers a hard no, his wife speaks up, “Okay.”

Her husband opens his mouth,but doesn't know what to say. POTUS tells the vigilante duo to confer with Emma, Eugene, and a pair of secret ops agents. The trip back to their hotel is eerily quiet, so silent one can hear an arrowhead drop on the car interior. The couple stays at opposite walls during shared elevator ride.

Felicity wheels herself inside their room with a rapid, furious stride.

“You have something to say to me, Oliver. _Say it._ ”

He stalks towards her, “What the fuck were you thinking?”

“ _Excuse me_?" She spits, eyeing her husband as if she stands six feet tall.

“You heard me. Felicity, how dare you agree to this without even so much as consulting me?”

“Ha! And once you get your head out of your ass, you’d realize how many damn times I back your plan even when I don’t agree to it because I trust you. I love you, and you can’t even…”

She hurls a pillow at him, and he flicks it away.

“Ugh,” He groans, “You know I love and trust you always. That’s not what this is about.”

His wife shouts, “Then what is it about?!”

“I want you safe with me.” Oliver breathes, no louder than a whisper. His voice breaks. “I-I almost lost you _twice_ , and with this mission, you’re putting yourself directly in the line of fire.”

“If tonight was any indication, trouble has its way of finding us — no matter where we are.”

Oliver head dips down, looking at his wrinkled dress pants, “I’m sorry. This life that we lead…”

“Is something I wouldn’t trade for the world. It gives me a real sense purpose, and I like helping people.”

Exhaustion pulls him to the end of their bed like a magnet, he realizes, “There’s no talking you out of this, is there?”

Laughter breaks through their marital spat for the first time that night.

“Hi, have we met?”

His thumbs wade in her dimples.

“Felicity, I don’t know what would become of me if I ever lost you.” He whispers tenderly, tears sliding down his cheeks, “I’m fighting for us, our family, and I...”

She whispers, forehead touching his, “I know.”

* * *

  ** _Present Night (Hotel Room)_**

Felicity closes the latch on her cobalt pocketbook, tucking away H.R. transmogrification device as if it is a simple red pen. She stares back at the full-length mirror from the foot of their bed. Bullet wounds and numerous incision marks are stark reminders of what she’s dealt with over six years. They’re starting to blend with her skin tone, though the coarse texture shall never fade. Neither will the painful memories.

But she’s here. She’s survived through Hell and back countless times, and that fact alone is something to be damn proud of. Mangled flesh is akin to a few dimples in her back, contrasting the cotton of her emerald dress. There’s no changing it. Her pink glossed lips tick up in a gentle smile.

Oliver clears his throat, “You look beautiful.”

“Mm, tell me something I don’t know, Mr. Bond.”

“I’m not Pierce Brosnan, Felicity.”

“James Bond, Daniel Craig - except more muscle, Oliver. We’ve got to watch movies from this decade.”

“Okay.” He agrees under his breath, carefully placing Felicity in an exact replica of Emma’s scarlet wheelchair.

With a speedy delivery from Wally, they press on button on Earth-19 Wells’ stolen tech, transforming into the Prime Minister’s daughter and her fiancé. Emma has a similar build to Felicity, almost the same scars from a skiing accident in the French Alps. Though her eyes are a gorgeous green and red hair pops against the jewel toned frock. Oliver’s disguised as Eugene - a vastly different man than the hero under the hood. More of a runner’s body with tawny skin, adorable freckles above his lips, and black wavy locks.

“Nice, but I want my Oliver back by midnight.”

“As soon as we’re done with the mission, same here.”

Oliver and Felicity spend the past two days masquerading as Emma and Eugene. They’ve learned the high-profile couples mannerisms — how they move, how they eat, their little quirks, and basically everything making them the first couple of Markovia. Languages would be impossible to pick up in that short amount of time. Thankfully with the help of translator gum from Nate, it would be a cinch. Well, at least they hope so. Strangely the Bratva hasn’t made another move on the technology in Emma’s arm, but Overwatch and Green Arrow receive intel from A.R.G.U.S. tonight at a family dinner would be their next strike.

The couple approaches an inconspicuous water delivery van. Three knocks rap at a large metal back door.

A stern voice inquires, “What’s the password?”

“Honeydew,” Felicity says curtly, “Let us in. It’s freezing out here.”

Another man checks the camera and grants the superhero duo access inside their safe house on wheels.

Eugene gasps, staring at a replica of himself, “Avishvasaneey (Incredible)!”

The young man attempts to poke at Oliver, eyes bugging out in amazement.

Oliver slaps his hand away, chewing the translator gum, “Main aisa nahin hota hai ki agar Main tumhen the (I wouldn’t do that, if I were you.)”

“But you are him, are you not, Oliver?” Emma laughs, “Verbazingwekkend (Amazing)!”

Felicity muses, sticking the gum in her mouth, “Ze heeft een punt (She’s got a point there.)”

“Okay.” Green Arrow checks in with agents, “Are we ready to go?”

“Yes, sir.”

Overwatch reminds, “You let us know the second any Bratva brothers on site.”

“Roger that, ma’am.”

Eugene dares to ask, rubbing the back of his neck, “And then what?”

“And then we end this.” Green Arrow grits.

Voice dipping in a lethal tone, Overwatch finishes, “By any means necessary.”

“Thank you, Felicity.” Emma sees off, pulling her new friend in a for a hug.

Eugene hopes, “Be safe.”

Thankfully, no one is the wiser when “Emma” and “Eugene” at Moderes restaurant. It’s hugs, kisses, and warm feelings when they rendezvous with Dimitriij, Azila, and Sarina. As the family dines on varnikis and cabbage stew, footsteps shuffle on the roof. Bratva cronies appear out of the shadows in an alleyway. Hard punches, swift kicks, and shoves create clatter in the back all too easy. Customers scatter when six burly men appear in suits from the kitchen — the Pakhan front and center.

“This is Delta to Green Arrow and Overwatch. Enemy on site. I repeat: enemy on site.”

Oliver growls, azure eyes burning with rage. Felicity’s fingertips intertwine with his.

“Dimitriji, Azi, Sarina, go now!” Oliver leads, moving the trio to a side entrance.

Azi denies vehemently, “La saydi. hdha wajibi (No, sir. It is my duty)

“We need you and Sarina  to protect the Prime Minister.” Felicity agrees, listening with a translator function on her comm, “That is your mission now, Azi.

Her boss implores, “We must listen to them, Azi for Emma’s sake.”

As the Bratva cronies near, Azi agrees, though not without providing cover fire. A bullet grazes one of Anatoli’s men in the leg, though he leaves his underling be. What is the backup muscle for show? The Pakhan takes pleasure in torment, having the Vacios looking over their shoulders every chance they get. He is no longer the man, mentor, brother, and friend Oliver knew in Russia.

“Hello, Oliver.” Anatoli announces with a sinister grin, “What? No playing Kapiushon (Hood)? You must be stupid if you thought I could not see that this mask was not the scared little imp of a man.”

Eugene scoffs, clearly affronted “Imp?”

“Find the girl.” The Pakhan orders, “We need her alive.”

From three blocks down, tires squeal, rubber burning on road. Bratva cronies sprint to their cars, yet Oliver flips one goon on the dining table. Though that Lieutenant is a peon compared to the big fish. He leaps forward. Felicity discreetly presses a button on her tire.

“Viktor, kill the blonde. She is of no use to us.”

Oliver puts Anatoli in a headlock, choking him out. He rushes to his wife’s aid as the idiot cocks his gun. Her eyelids clamp shut. She trembles as a loud boom erupts from the pistol. It lands in her lap, boring a hole through the dress, but not a scratch on her.

“How?” Oliver pants, clutching his heart.

Felicity laughs nervously, “Kara let me borrow this dress. It’s bullet proof.”

Anatoli reaches for a nearby pistol from his fallen comrade, weakened, yet moving quicker than most.

“Oliver, watch out!”

He turns back as the Bratva boss loads a magazine into the pistol. A T-Sphere flies into the room almost as fast as The Flash, tasering the elder man.

The disguised Felicity whimpers, “He’s not dead, is he?”

“No.” Oliver walks over when his former friend is out cold, “He’s stunned. Look at that, I was worried about keeping you safe, and you ended up saving me. My hero.”

She tweaks her black lace strap with an air of confidence, “You’re welcome.”

Felicity brushes the bullet casing unceremoniously. Oliver lifts her up into a tight, life-affirming embrace. The next night Bratva was working alongside Helix, who paid the Russian gangsters an obscene amount of cash. After a video conference with A.R.G.U.S., POTUS and Lyla figure that the Justice League contingency plan would be better stored at their facility. The PM, Emma, Eugene, President, and First Laddie, as Roger humorously likes to be called among friends, part ways after a much calmer dinner of tacos and sangrias — Commander-in-Chief’s favorite.

In an expression of their gratitude, Dimitrij loans the Queens’ one of their vacation homes on the outskirts of France. Felicity is lounging in the backyard, flipping through a French Cosmo. Moonlight and a blanket of stars accompany as does her husband, who keeps a close eye on her from the veranda.

“Are you just going to stand there all night, or do you plan on joining me?”

He’s not really surprised, traipsing over to a cream loveseat.

“Hm, I didn’t want to interrupt.” Oliver notes, torso blanketing hers, although he keeps most of his weight on his forearms, “You look relaxed.”

“Yeah, I am." Felicity acknowledges, hands skimming his black t-shirt. “You wanna talk about it?”

After a long beat, he admits, “I don’t know who Anatoli is anymore, but he deserves a fate far worse than a Supermax cell at A.R.G.U.S. What I do know is we need to find Cayden James as soon as we return stateside.”

Pitching an eyebrow, the blonde prompts, “And…?”

“You know I’ll never be comfortable when you’re out in field. And I’m not saying that because I think you’re incapable of being a badass out there either, Felicity. You’ve proven that multiple times. I just... I worry.”

“I get it. I do, but is there a point? We’ve had this conversation before.”

“Uh-huh. I brought it up because.” The off-duty Emerald Archer pauses, smooching her nose, “You’re always by my side out there — in the bunker or not — and I love you for it.”

Felicity says,“Always glad to hear that. But you know I need a little something. Do you mind?”

“Another sangria? I think we’re out of ice.”

“I wasn’t talking about sangria, Oliver.”

His face crumples in confusion. She glances at him and the couch hidden under the cabana.

“Here, now?” Oliver questions incredulously, joking, “How many sangrias did you and Sue have, my friend? Because you hardly ever want to make love outdoors.”

“Make love?” She quips in amusement, “How old are you?”

“Hey!” He snipes playfully. “When we stayed at that cabin in Ravenspur, you didn’t want to do it because there was a peeping doe.”

“I want to do something crazy. We haven’t done anything like this since Bali, so are you in or what?”

“Alright, but remember it’s chilly out and…”

His wife snort-laughs, “Little Oliver may not be up to par?”

Kisses trail down her neck. His teeth graze her pulse point.

“He is not little!”

Oliver strides over to the larger couch with Felicity gripping his torso. He positons her legs just above his hips. Her blush romper drapes that light blue pillow case concealing her medical equipment. His t-shirt and jeans hit the concrete in haste. The fire pit keeps them warm, although breezy summer air sends a shiver across their skin. Oliver guides her hips towards his, and she bounces in his lap Felicity peppers his jaw and neck with wet smooches. They grind like that until a tent pops up in her husband’s thin boxer briefs.

Felicity teases with a breathy giggle,”Bonjour, monsieur.”

“Shh, Honey. You may scare him away in this weather. I mean, I’m not twenty anymore.”

“Do you not want to have sex?”

“Of course, I do. Why would you…?”

“Never mind. Just shut up and kiss me.”

Their mouths meld together in a passionate frenzy. It’s gnashing teeth, tangled tongues, nails, and beard burn. Felicity lightly smacks his ass, urging him on. His mitigated gaze almost rivals the evening sky as he eases down his underwear, his cock at half salute. She licks her lips, and he groans at the sight before him. They’ve already made good use of their room indoors, but this — her stunning bare body under the moonlit glow — is a fucking fantastic look he’ll never tire of seeing. Oliver’s too distracted to notice when Felicity takes matters into her own hands. He responds to her touch like a livewire, thrusting against the welcome warmth of her calloused palm, roughened slightly from push rims and tire grazes, as she strokes him from tip to base, nail teasing the head.

Oliver grunts, trying to control himself as Felicity pumps him slowly, “Oh, Shit, Baby.”

“Come here.”

A sneaky plan forms in her mind. Oliver adores how it races about before him, making Felicity all flustered and cute. But he knows she’s up to something a bit more devious, hinting at her next move when she blatantly sucks on her fingertips.

His hand squeeze hers, ceasing their movements. Wrong move because the combined pressure is going to have him biting through his bottom lip. It’s positively exquisite.

“Not tonight, Felicity.”

“But I thought you said.”

“Uh-huh.” Her husband teases in a low whisper, knowing exactly what he’s doing, “But I want to be inside you when I cum, deep inside you.”

“Yeah,” She breathes, mind compensating for what she’s not supposed to be able to feel. However, their memories spark her desire. “Tell me.”

“Ah, ah, ah, hold that thought. I have to get the KY.” He coaxes with a fleeting kiss to her cheek.

Thank God, Oliver hasn’t brought their luggage up yet. He jogs over to his suitcase, quickly retrieving a bottle of lubricant for sensitive skin. Felicity's teeth dig in her lower lip, gaze flicking down to her port and tubes. With one finger, Oliver lifts her chin. Their eyes meet, staring at each other until Felicity relaxes again.

“I don’t why I get so skittish about this. It’s not our first time.”

“It’s okay.” Her husband reminds with a gentle smile, “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“Can I…?”

She nods vigorously. He warms an ample dollop in his hands, coating his rough fingertips before he pushes in slowly. Forgetting about that wretched medical equipment, Felicity focuses on memories — the bite of his palm against her thigh, his breath ghosting over her face, the heady expression as if he get off from helping his wife find her own pleasure And there’’s how full, wet, and hot she felt when he would push in deeper and crook his fingers, riffing against her G-spot. It’s definitely not the same. But those countless memories are intense.

In actuality, she feels a super-thin pressure, and heat simmers in her veins.

“Oliver.” Felicity pleads in half-anticipation, half-frustration, “Tell me.”

He sighs, toying with her cartilage piercing before he nibbles on her earlobe.

“I’ve two fingers inside you, so deep. You’re so soft.”

Her brows furrow, eyes slipping shut. She groans, trying to recapture those mind-numbing sensations.

“Ugh, Honey. I can’t. I need… I need…”

“You’re tight, hot, so hot, Baby.” Oliver continues, “Remember the way I felt inside you — so full. You were so warm and wet, when you clamped around my fingers…”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Oh!”

Her skin flushes, neck craning up, but it still isn’t there. Orgasms will never be there in that way, but she needs more of something, anything. Pressing a hard kiss as his mouth slants over hers. Oliver urges her back against the couch. Chilly weather unforgotten as his mouth descends over her torso, stubble rasping at her skin. She moans at the sharp feeling.

“I love when you cry out just like that.” Oliver murmurs against, soothing old hickeys with a soft lick, “You sound so sexy, so perfect.”

Without warning, he sucks on a hardened nipple. She palms her neglected breast while he pushes the tender flesh up against the roof of his mouth, towards that delectable uneven area, warranting a shout. Luckily, they’re far enough away from prying ears and eyes of their neighbors. His cock painfully grazes her pelvis before he carries on. His tongue darts out, dipping into her bellybutton. Felicity giggles until she becomes acutely away of the need for her — his erratic breaths, face sheathed in sweat, eyes laden with lust. Oliver can’t just thrust in and take her against a wall. At least not without some lube first. He pulls her in his lap. They take care of him to the point when they know Felicity will be comfortable. She swipes precum over his tip, mingling with the KY. Oliver grips her wrist before holding her hips aloft. He eases in gently, burying himself to the hilt when pure feeling and awareness sparks across her nerves.

“Fuck, Oliver, don’t stop. Don’t stop.”

She can’t feel it, but Felicity is very mindful of watching Oliver’s expression. A fire ignites under her skin Her nose prods his broad shoulder as their rhythm is slow and gentle at first. His arms are the perfect cradle. She clings tightly to him. Before Felicity needs more. Their pace grows to a more staccato beat, skin slapping against skin they breathe each other in. Felicity claws at his back when he nips at her shoulder. A shudder wracks his body. With one final thrust, he spills into her in long, hot spurts.

“Oh, God. _Felicity_.”

Their muscles quaver. Oliver’s spent. Felicity sprawls out across her husband’s body, relishing in his comforting embrace. Their breaths jostle against one another. It’s a Helluva way to end their trip to Markovia. Granted, the Queens owe Dimitrij a new outdoor furniture set, but every thing — even the mission on their break is all worth it as long as they have each other. The environment isn’t relaxing for too long as mist seeps down onto their heated bodies, Rainfall follows as soon as they head inside — wearing their birthday suits. They clean up, listening to rain pour down on the skylight. Missions like these may not always bring the couple comfort, but closing out nights are pure bliss.


	9. United

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt 9:** Pride

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, ladies and gents, I took a little break last week because I was on vacation visiting my grandparents and I had a major case of writer's block. But hope you all enjoy this one. Also, thanks, Sophie. Your "love is indestructible" comment inspired this chapter, so I had to include it of course. Oh and sunbutter is a spread made out of sunflower seeds since Felicity is allergic to nuts. The way she eats it is how I sometimes snack on pure peanut butter.

Oliver lays between Felicity’s spread legs. He peppers his wife’s bare belly with soft smooches, stubble tickling her skin. A hand sweeps through his spiky blonde locks as she giggles. Their home fills with laughter. It’s everything Oliver has ever wanted, and now he has it — a semi-normal life. William records family time on his dad’s cellphone camera.

“Hey, kid.” William announces, pointing the camera on himself. “That’s your mom and dad. They can be huge goobers, but we love ‘em.”

Felicity chimes, feigning offense, “It’s all your dad.”

“Okay.” Her stepson huffs out a laugh, “Don’t worry, you’ll get used to them before you pop out. If not, just stick with me.”

Oliver kisses Felicity with gusto — loud as he slants his mouth over hers.

The big brother-to-be shakes his head, “With these two mushballs, good luck, kiddo.”

William sets the phone down on the coffee table. Felicity offers him the TV remote.

“Your dad and I were going to watch _House of Cards_ , but we can check out the new season of _Trollhunters_ if you want.”

“No, thanks.” The teenager decides, noting. “I’ve got to work on my science project.”

“Son, I thought you already finished your bio report.”

“Don’t worry, Dad. This is for physics club. We’re testing speed and velocity at Kanigher Fields next Saturday, remember? Mom’s driving.”

He blinks, trying to to jog his memory, “Oh, right. Sorry.”

William bounds the stairs, heading off to his bedroom. Oliver and Felicity hone in on the closed door. A smirk crosses Felicity’s nude lips. Upon hearing the tell crack of a baseball mitt, Oliver wants to march right up to his son’s room. Thankfully, Felicity’s loud voice travels up nicely.

“No throwing baseballs in the house!” The newly brunette Felicity cautions.

The door creaks open a sliver. William appears guilelessly with mitt in hand.

“Felicity, you’re a scientist, you know how important it is to test an experiment multiple times.”

His stepmother interjects, “Nice try, but you know the rules, and they don’t change when you’re over at our place, William.”

“But…”

His dad continues, “No, buts. You’re lucky your mom still let you have a baseball after you broke one of her windows.”

“Aw, come on. She told you two about the kitchen window.”

“Of course.” Felicity confirms, mentioning, “which is every cent of your allowance this month goes straight back to your mom.”

William groans, “Fine. I’ll go read.”

He slams the door shut, dropping his glove and ball. If it wasn’t for his baby blue eyes and love of baseball, Oliver would’ve had a difficult time believing he has a thirteen year old kid. Despite the hormones and attitude at times, he’s so damn proud of that young man.

Felicity tugs on her husband’s worn gray boxers, leaving her legs dangling on the side of their couch. She rises up to transfer to her purple wheelchair, but the small baby bump makes previously simple tasks a bit more difficult.

“Woah, woah.” Oliver eyes widen as he notices his wife’s trembling arms. “Let me… I gotcha, Honey.”

He plops her gently on the gel padded seat.

“Thank you, but I still could’ve done that myself, you know?”

“I know, but you’re also carrying precious cargo.”

Felicity gives her belt some extra slack before it clicks together she retreats to the kitchen. The brunette whips around the room — a lady on a mission. Granted, it’s for sunbutter and a spoon. But she can at least still do that by herself. Waves of “morning sickness” as her doctor referred to it are put on pause for this week. Felicity honestly doesn’t know why they call pregnancy nausea “morning sickness” when hers hits in the afternoon or at night. Pregnancy leaves her skin glowing, but vomit and constipation leave little to be desired. Not to mention the pressure sores on her thighs. It’s the one time Felicity appreciates a lack of sensation in her lower extremities. Although, today is a pretty good day.

Oliver meets her back in the living room with a thermos full of hot cocoa. He shoots her an amused grin as she delights in a helping of sunbutter straight off the spoon.

She deadpans, “No, my love. I don’t want bread or crackers with my sunbutter. You signed up for this when you married me, so what are you going to about it?”

“Huh? Grab a bag of popcorn, your Palmer’s Cocoa Butter and topical cream for your thighs.”

Oliver does just that. Felicity doesn’t mind the slather of Palmer’s Cocoa Butter so much as the topical cream for her pressure sores. She winces as her husband delicately applies some medical cream and large Band-Aids to the bright red slightly open skin, simply by the pure sight of those minor wounds. To be honest with paralysis and pregnancy, tiny sores are the least of their worries. Plus, nausea and constipation are common issues for any mother-to-be. And she hates not being able to dye her hair. Yet Felicity knows this baby will all be worth it.

Her heart jumps from constant popping sounds in the microwave. Logically, she understands it’s only a snack. However, her mind drifts elsewhere — a barrage of bullets which left shrapnel in her spine, booming explosives, and billowing smoke. Her chest tightens as she hugs herself. Two tears slide down her pale cheeks as she hugs herself. A sky blue button up shirt drapes over her arms along with her husband’s comforting embrace.

“Oliver?” Her voice tremors.

“Yeah, I’m here. I’m right here.” He whispers, caressing her arms. “You’re safe. Both of you are safe. I promise.”

She exhales, gulping thickly, “I can’t… I can’t…”

“I know.”

Oliver understands the pain of that Hellish island and battle scars better than anyone. He breathes her in, holding his wife closely. His torso presses into her back. When Felicity becomes aware of countless sweet nothings, her heartbeat returns to normal.

Gripping her husband’s wrists, Felicity exhales, “I’m okay. I’m…”

“No you’re not.”

“Oliver, we are fine.”

Rounding the couch, he examines her face. The telltale crinkle between her brows and her teeth pinching her lower lip speak otherwise.

“What do you need, Felicity?”

Patting a cushion, his wife suggests,“Just hold me.”

“Do you still want to watch _House of Cards_?”

“Duh.” She answers incredulously, “It’s season 7.”

He chuckles, “Of course.”

Their favorite Netflix political drama is a welcome distraction. Oliver and Felicity are enthralled by the emotions on screen, only pausing briefly to munch on some snacks. They barely begin the third episode when a certain mama-to-be dozes off for a catnap. Oliver buttons his work shirt over her maroon sports bra before he pulls a cozy emerald wool blanket. His touches are light. Felicity doesn’t stir until her husband leaves the comfort of their sofa.

“Checking on Will?” Felicity murmurs groggily, eyes draped shut.

“Mm-hm. I’ll be back in a minute.”

She yawns, “Alright.”

Felicity hopes to slip out from under that soft blanket, but it’s way too comfortable.

“Go back to sleep.” Oliver advises, tucking a loose strand behind her ear.

His wife explains, tone husky from slumber, “Nope. Need my pillow.”

“You’ll have me back soon.”

Oliver walks upstairs and discovers his boy is down for the count. He closes William’s notebook covered in Justice League (at least Felicity calls the expanded team that) stickers. The off-duty Emerald Archer fingers descend his son’s forehead to the tip of his nose since he woke slightly from the slam of a drawer.

“Dad?” He mumbles.

“You get some rest too, Bud.”

The forehead to nose trick causes the boy’s heavy eyelids to blink. William falls back against the pillows. With a rustle of his hair, the teen is out like a light. Oliver would have to thank Samantha, Raisa, and Donna for that parenting tidbit. It’s foolproof.

He ventures downstairs to find his wife sitting up in wait. Felicity rests on top of her husband. While their coffee colored sectional leaves his long limbs bent, Oliver doesn’t mind much.

His wife inquires, fingertips tracing the T-shirt clad scar where his Bratva tattoo once remained, “Are you sure you’re okay like this?”

“Just close your eyes and go back to sleep.”

“Hm, you didn’t answer my question.”

Oliver diverts, “I think my girls need their rest.”

“Ha! I still say Baby Queen is a boy.” Felicity guesses, pointing out, “Besides we won’t find out the sex for another three weeks or longer if he or she isn’t in a good position.”

“True. You want me to change your catheter?”

“No.” She yawns, pressing a smooch to the underside of his jaw. “My body clock seems set to 2AM lately.”

Soft snores and even breathing mingle throughout the Queens’ living room. Oliver’s simply grateful for a moment’s respite with a day busy from beginning to end. Reporters talked his ear off at City Hall about another supposed Queen family scandal at last week’s Pride Parade. Snapper Carr is a stodgy curmudgeon. The highlight was Will’s parent-teacher conference with Felicity and Samantha in tow. Their boy wasn’t genius level, but he maintained above average grades. Granted, he needs a bit of assistance when speaking in front of his classmates. Felicity oversaw design plans for various areas in Smoak Tech’s Computer Science Division, ran through lines of code in the bunker, and the final straw to their hectic day was coming up empty on a lead for Ricardo Drago’s next victim. Although, the power couple managed to arrived home in time for a scrumptious beef stroganoff with Samantha, William, and her fiancé Christopher.

A blissful slumber is short-lived when Oliver’s phone beeps. Felicity greets her husband with fiery azure and angry face — a glare that can kill. Technically in Oliver’s case, it means no spooning, a cold shoulder, and a view of his wife’s backside. And he certainly isn’t allowed to touch.

“Sorry, sorry.” Oliver says, picking up his phone, “I thought I turned it off.”

Felicity growls, “You woke the baby.”

Her anger simmers when she loves sensing those tiny flutters in her tummy. She can’t wait to feel an actual kick soon. Oliver wishes he can feel what his wife does right now, but Baby Queen is growing strong. Dimples pool in her cheeks when she guides Oliver’s hand to her belly.

“Nothing yet.” Her husband acknowledges glumly, adopting a cute voice. “You be good for mama, Sweetie.”

“Who texted you at this insane hour?”

He checks, a bright screen shining against his face, “Mackenzie, Thea has the stomach flu and wants to know Raisa’s homemade cracker recipe.”

“Well, at least one of them is speaking to you.” The brunette hacker figures, squeezing his shoulder.

His gaze flits over to his wife.

“What? They're ghosting you — not me.”

“Yeah.” Oliver cringes, palms blanketing his face, “After the incident at Star City’s Pride Parade, I’m not winning any Big Brother of the Year awards.”

* * *

  _ **Last Week**_

The annual SC Pride Parade is underway. It’s a day to celebrate love and happiness for all. One crowd gathers outside of City Hall. Quentin set up a podium at the end of long concrete steps. As mayor, Oliver despises formality, although it is customary to give a speech. Felicity wears a sleeveless violet dress with strappy metallic sandals, her bump nothing more than extra healthy pudginess. Despite barfing in a hedge recently, she looks radiant — albeit a tinge green and glistening, yet classy. After a swig of water, she adjusts her man’s American flag pin on his lapel, winking since he clearly took her advice on the fun rainbow socks under his sleek navy suit. Thea stands between Quentin and her fiancé Mackenzie, itching to hold her hand.

“Ollie and Felicity have to rub it in.” Thea grumbles, noticing her brother holding his wife’s hand behind the podium.

Quentin wonders, speaking through the side of his mouth, “You doing alright there, Thea?”

“Fine,” replies the Chief of Staff, wrinkling her white pantsuit while she crosses her arms.

The Deputy mayor presses, “You sure? Because you seem on edge.”

Oliver clears his throat. Flashbulbs and chatter cease as the mayor speaks to this bustling crowd.

“Every year we dedicate the month of June to the Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender, Transexual, Questioning, Intersex, Asexual, and Non-conforming Gender Community. Lord, knows I fall more in love with my wife every single day.”

Felicity blushes, squeezing his hand tighter. A collective prolonged “Aww!” rings throughout the bullpen of reporters with the exception of a gossip blogger, Susan Williams, who blatantly rolls her eyes.

“Harvey Milk, Lili Elbe, and Carol Queen, three of many people who paved the way in the LGBTQ+ community. Today is not only about honoring them, but the millions of people who stand by their loved ones. Today is about supporting our friends, family, and partners and standing together united. Star City has become a tolerant inclusive space, and it is my fondest hope that our beloved home will continue to be just that. Never be afraid to express who you truly are. Respect one another for our differences and similarities. Be kind. Be bold, and remember love is infinite. It’s indestructible — no matter what. Thank you.”

Bystanders give the mayor a rousing applause. Oliver, Felicity, and company are escorted through the parade in a black SUV with tinted windows. The Pride and American flag which are attached near the headlights whip in the wind. They are at the fairgrounds at Starling Pier. Oliver’s face crumples as their drive parks adjacent to the Green Arrow statue — all Felicity’s doing for Green Arrow day in May.

“Stop it.” Felicity warns playfully, knowing exactly what her husband is thinking “You deserve all the praise.”

Oliver opens his mouth to speak, yet couldn’t get in another protest.

The brunette hacker interrupts, “And I know you don’t see a reason for it, but I sure as Hell do.”

He hums, squatting down to her level. Oliver boops Felicity’s nose. They talk with a few citizens in the crowd. Felicity is particularly delighted with a young Leukemia survivor named Daisy who loves computers. Oliver greets a little boy named Ryan in a Supergirl costume, who distracted by his chocolate peanut butter ice cream. The power couple meets a passionate duo a lady mentions she dyed her hair hunter green due to her love of the Emerald Archer with a wrist tattoo in his likeness. Her girlfriend twists a cartilage piercing before showing off her “Overwatch” tattoo. They’ve never seen the super lovebirds up close, but one night there was a glimpse of Star City’s hero and a badass lady in a wheelchair with a purple hoodie, racing through an alleyway outside of Kord Industries.

As that lovely couple bids the Queens’ goodbye, Oliver and Felicity’s secret identity bubble remains intact

“Wow.” The off-duty Emerald Archer sighs, hand tapping against his hip.

His wife concurs. “Yeah, wow. We’ve got to be more careful, or people could…”

“Hey, Felicity. How are you?” Curtis greets, speaking faster than a speedster. “Oh my God, girl, if you weren’t pregnant, you should definitely try this new coffee. Guess what? Guess what it’s called, boss?”

“I don’t know. It’s an iced mocha to me.”

“Close, but wrong! It-It’s a Felicity Smocha.”

His boss’ lips purse, hands folding in her lap, “Say what now?”

“Aw. you deserve all the recognition, Babe. Since when is that a thing?”

“Last Thursday, I suggested it to Rose at Jitters in Aparo Square, and she went for it.”

His mentor smiles, “Cool.”

“It’s bomb, off da chain. epic.”

Felicity wonders, “Um, Paul, how many of those drinks has he downed?”

“Counting this last one two and half in the last hour. That’s it. I’m cutting you off.”

Curtis frowns, “But Baby I…”

“Keisha…” Paul prompts their daughter.

“No buts, Daddy.”

Oliver and Felicity laugh harmoniously.

“Fine.” The former Olympian relents. “Keisha, Princess, you want to go to the face painting booth with Papa?”

“Yeah!” She cheers, clapping her hands over Paul’s head.

Paul adds, “Oh, Daddy’s coming too.”

No way he’s getting out of this one.

“Aw man.”

Oliver waves, “Bye,” which echoes Felicity’s “See you later.”

After partaking in a nice strawberry lemonade, Felicity’s stomach settles. They indulge in a moment alone, traveling down the pier. Felicity guesses all the jellybeans in a large jar, and donates the prize money to GLAAD. A pyramid of milk bottles clatter onto wooden planks when Oliver wins his wife a stuffed panda, which will be perfect for their little one. Felicity spies a photo booth sandwiched between the various games.

“My wheels may be a problem when it comes to that.”

“Babe, your arms are amazing. Michelle Obama would be jealous, or I can carry you in. Take your pick, but I’m not going to let anything stop us from doing what you want.”

“Hmm…” The tech genius thinks, doing the math in her head, “If I angle this baby at ten o’clock, I got it covered.”

Luckily, they run into Thea and Mackenzie strolling along the boardwalk pretending as if they simply just friends. It’s difficult, considering the pair is engaged. Thea’s also an out and proud bisexual among their loved ones. But being out in the public would open them up to a slew of bullying and hate. At least that’s what Thea believes, Mackenzie, on the other hand, wants to kiss her wife-to-be in public, despite what anyone else says.

“Kenzie, Thea, we’ll just be a few minutes.” Oliver says, holding the curtain.

Granted, it’s a tricky maneuver, but thanks to her improved upper body strength, Felicity transfers on the bench with a loud grunt.

“You okay, Felicity?” Mackenzie queries, fiddling with a blue strand.

Her sister-in-law admits from behind the curtain, “Better now. Oliver, get in here!”

“Yes, Hon.” Her husband obliges, stepping inside the booth.

“Kenz, Thea, can you guard my ride?”

Plopping down in the seat, Thea assures, “On it.”

“Literally.” Her fiancé chimes, lips ticking up in a smile.

Thea notes, playing with her hair, “Well, aren’t you cute?”

Yeah, you want to do something about it?” Mackenzie hopes, leaning in for a kiss.

Her lady denies, surveying the area. “Not here.”

Camera snaps cut through the tension between the duo. A row of photos feed out of the mention. Felicity snuggles with a rainbow heart pillow perched on Oliver’s lap — bliss of expectant parenthood evident in their toothy grins. The second is a snap of Oliver booping Felicity’s nose as she pretends to pull away. Third is a silly photo of Felicity’s thumb in Oliver’s dimple, playfully scratching his neatly trimmed stubble with her free hand. The last one is a big kiss on the lips.

“So cheesy.” Thea quips.

Mackenzie disagrees, “I think it’s adorable.”

“Freak,” A teen sneers.

Oliver jumps into protective big brother mode as he and Felicity make their way out.

“Hey, just because my sister is bi…”

“Ollie!” His sister grit.

“Woah, you sister is bi. That’s hot.” The boy replies with a smarmy head nod.

Felicity reminds through clenched teeth, “We’re in public.”

“Get out of here.” Oliver growls, desperately wanting to grab the young man by his over-sized t-shirt.

“Mr. Mayor, sir. I think my boy Gary misspoke. We were just curious as to why Ms. Queen was sitting in your wife’s wheelchair.”

“What’s your name, kid?” Felicity asks, holding back the curtain.

He gulps, “Dante, ma’am.”

“Well I think you and 'your boy' Gary need to leave now.”

“Come on. I was just starting to enjoy the show.” Gary eggs on, arms spread wide.

“Man, squash it.” His friend warns, “You heard her. She’s the First Lady of Star City.”

Gary laughs, and Dante hauls his ass out of there.

If that wasn’t enough who else but Susan Williams hears Oliver’s inadvertent confession about Thea and leaks old photos with Thea and Mackezie at yoga, with Thea’s head in her lap, and sweet smooches at Verdant. Stupid Q-Cloud. Nobody besides Felicity and Curtis know how to work it.

In City Hall, the next day, Thea is livid. She shows her brother the gossip sites, hateful comments, and people’s reactions.

Hands bracketing her hips, his sister takes a dig, “Well, you got Mackenzie what she wanted.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

“You fucked up, Ollie! You know exactly why I didn’t want the press to know, and Dragon Lady got her claws into this PR nightmare.”

“You’re engaged, Speedy to a woman you love. Why are trying to hide it?”

“I wanted to come out to the people in Star City when _I_ was ready, but I guess I don’t have that choice anymore.”

“You should be proud of who you are.”

“Cut the crap, bro. I don’t need a lecture from any man. Besides, you’re straight, you don’t get it.”

He implores, “Then tell me.”

“Tell you? I can’t even look at you.” She scoffs, walking out of her own office, “I’m not speaking to you, and don’t weasel your way into Kenzie’s good graces.”

Her heels clack against the marble floor. Oliver’s left sitting atop her desk, shoulders slumped, head hanging low.

* * *

  _ **Present Day**_

Oliver arrives at Mackenzie and Thea's apartment with some Khao Tom (Thai rice soup) free of meat and veggies, so it’s simply starchy grains and brother alongside homemade crackers.

“Hey, Ollie.” Kenzie greets, giving her brother-in-law a hug. “Thanks for stopping by.”

“No problem. How’s your favorite patient?”

The detective reports, “Well, she kept down the chicken broth this morning.”

Thea says nothing, but gazes at those homemade crackers.

“Felicity sends her love. She wanted to tag along, but we can’t risk getting the baby sick.”

“Of course.” Mackenzie understands, “Thea, do you want to say something to your brother?”

Staring at the wall, Thea mutters after a long beat, “Thanks.”

“Oh. You’re speaking to me again?”

She sniffles, “For now, I guess.”

Kenzie presses the back of her hand against her fiancé’s forehead.

“Eat up, love. It’s almost time for your meds.”

Thea nods, “Okay and Ollie?”

“Yeah.”

His sister admits, “I’m still mad at you.”

“I know, Speedy.” Oliver accepts, ladling a bowl of hot soup. “I know.”


	10. Talking Body

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt 10:** Late to the party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To the anon on Tumblr who wanted me to explore more of the emotional and sexual side to Felicity's paralysis, here you go. Oh, and I haven't decided the sex of Baby Queen. Hence, the gender neutral references.

Coins clink against the gray quartz counter at Jitters. Gerry’s khaki pants wrinkle as he squats down to his boss’ level. He plucks Felicity’s loose change off the tiled floor and drops them in the C.E.O’s palm. She forces a polite smile and tosses nickels and dimes into her purse. A toddler runs right into the mother-to-be, causing her wheelchair to swerve by the front door. Rather than prompting his daughter to utter an apology, a pitiful stare flits over the father’s face.

“I’m sorry.” Felicity makes the first move, “I should’ve been looking where I was going.”

After a long beat, the father nudges, “Sweetie, do you have something you want to say to the nice lady?”

“Sorry, ma’am.” The little girl mumbles, partially hiding behind her daddy’s leg, “I was going super fast, huh?”

“Yeah.” The brunette hacker grins, “Just like Jesse Quik.”

The toddler’s eyes grow wide with excitement, “Yeah. She’s the coolest.”

“I think so.” Felicity acknowledges, handing the kid her plush toy lamb, “Hey, wouldn’t want to lose this, Cutie Pie.”

“Thank you.” The toddler obliges, tucking her favorite toy under her arm. Her voice sinks to a loud whisper as they walk away, “Daddy, how come she can’t walk?”

Her father chastises in a hushed tone, “Anabelle.”

“But how does she go to the potty? How does she sleep in a bed?”

Kids are chockful of questions. The father-daughter duo rushes away in great haste before Felicity has a chance to chime in on the matter. She and Gerry exit the coffee joint and head straight for her adapted Range Rover.

Zipping up his blue hoodie, her assistant inquires, “Are you alright, ma’am?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” His boss challenges, backing herself into the Turny Evo (transport chair).

He stutters, “M-my apologies, Mrs. Queen.”

The mechanism whirs and swivels. Felicity lifts her ice cold legs inside the vehicle before being safely situated on the driver’s side. Gerry sticks the tiny remote in Felicity’s mint green purse. She indulges in a big slug of her hot cocoa.

“God, Ger.” His employer notes, adjusting her rear view mirror, “You have no idea how badly I miss caffeine.”

“Oh, I might.” He chuckles, fussing with a few strands of hair peeking out of his shiny bald spot. “Before I forget, happy birthday, boss.”

She gasps, “A one hundred dollar gift card for Jitters. I know how I pay you. Probably not enough with what you help me with now. Come on, this is too much.”

“It’s not. Curtis and Zari chipped in a bit too, Felicity. Did you check the date?”

The tech mogul reads, “January 30th, 2019.”

“I figured since you can’t nurse your little one. At least Mama can have all the coffee she wants.”

Putting her truck in drive, Felicity notes. “You’re too good to me, Conway. So let’s recap the agenda for today.”

“You have a ten o’clock video conference with WayneMedical’s board.” Her E.A. reports. “An 11:15 check in with Zari at Applied Sciences…”

Her trusted employee lists every item on her planner, though he fails to mention a particular meeting for certain reasons. Felicity knocks off those stodgy boardroom members’ socks and heels. Bruce, as usual, is ever the silent partner. Zipping down the hallway, Felicity returns to her roots, helping Zari improve the resolution on tiny cameras which will be used during various laparoscopic surgeries at Starling General. Newton’s Cradle swings back and forth atop her desk next to her boss-fern as Oliver likes to call it. Her stomach rumbles loudly.

Feeling a strong kick, the expectant mother teases playfully, “More food, kiddo? We already had yummy edamame beans for snack.”

As if on cue, the elevator dings when it reaches the thirty-sixth level. Gerry’s scuffed loafers squeak against the marble floor.

“Felicity.” Gerry announces with a soft rapping at her clear glass door, “Your twelve o’clock is here.”

Undoing her brakes, his wife greets, “Mr. Mayor, I believe our crucial meeting was scheduled for tonight at seven.”

“Oh, not to worry, Mrs. Queen. I haven’t forgotten, but you might want to check your Q-Phone.”

An alert pops up in the notification bar, signaling, “Lunch date with Oliver” The message is adorned with multiple red and green heart emoticons.

Gerry winks at Oliver before he leaves the power couple alone.

“Come here.” Felicity coaxes with a finger wag. Oliver leans down, and his wife’s neck cranes up, meeting each other halfway. They indulge in a sweet smooch. “This is a nice surprise, so where are we going?”

“Wherever you want, Honey. What’s your adorable baby belly craving?”

“Indian it is.”

The pair ventures two blocks down, not bothering to take a car. Annapurna bar and restaurant owner Abhik, graciously opens his doors to the First Couple. Bengali, Arabic, Hindi, Hebrew, and English chatter ring throughout the space — truly a melting pot of culture. The place is packed during their typical lunch rush, although Abhik sees his waitstaff find the duo a table immediately. Oliver and Felicity sit at a table featuring a view of their bustling beloved city. The birthday girl opts for an sumptuous Mutton Biriyani (lamb and goat chops) cooked with a nice basmati rice. The meat is kissed with smoke. Saffron, nutmeg and star anise delight Felicity’s palette. Her husband prefers Kanchkolar Kofta — raw plantain curry balls served with a tomato gravy and the perfect amount of spice. When her watermelon drink is no more than ice cubes, Oliver reveals a gift with a telltale blue wrapping.

“Open it,” instructs the off-duty Emerald Archer.

“You got me Tiffany's?” The brunette hacker guesses, shaking the bag, “What happened to not going big on birthday gifts because after Christmas and Hanukkah last year…”

The Queens splurged during winter holidays. As the head of a successful technology conglomerate, Felicity had enough money in the bank to purchase a Rolex Day-Date watch dripping in her husband favorite color - green leather band, matching face, and yellow gold accents worth roughly about 17.5 thousand dollars. Oliver also bought classy diamond studs worth around same amount, and they still had more than enough to purchase goodies for their family. Per usual the Queens also made an anonymous donation to a food bank in the Glades.

“Of course, you recognize that shade of blue, Babe. No worries, I only used the bag. You’re not going to know what your present is until you open it.”

Felicity does so, and a long maroon velvet box hides under tissue paper. Oliver adds a silent hand gesture for his wife to continue, so she can see what he’s concocted.

Tears gleam in her azure eyes - stupid fracking hormones - when his wife realizes, “You made this, didn’t you?”

“Mm-hm.” He confirms, lacing their fingertips across the table. “Arrowheads are one of the few things I can work with.

Her gaze descends to a stunning heart-shaped yellow gold locket with her intials FMQ (фмг) engraved in Cyrillic at the front and ‘My Always’ engraved with the English alphabet in the back.

“Oliver, I love it.” Felicity notes, choked with emotion, “Thank you.”

“You never have to thank me. The front side are your initials, but you know what’s special about a locket?

“What’s inside.”

Felicity’s teeth dig in her lower lip, admiring a private black and white photo of those two cuddled up at Thea and Mackenzie’s recent engagement party. Felicity perches on Oliver’s lap, avoiding his bad knee with her head resting in the crook of his neck. His arm wraps snugly around her waist with a free hand guarding her strappy dark heels. Their smiles aren’t posed — blissful and pure as Thea has found true happiness with her fiancé.

Her husband adds, “In the empty spot, I thought you could put any photo you want of you, your mom, or us.”

“Okay, can you put it on me?”

“Of course.”

Felicity sweeps back her natural reddish brown locks when Oliver assists with the tiny clasp. She retrieves her phone, switching the camera in selfie mode.

She approves, deliriously happy, “It’s perfect.”

“I’m glad you think so.” Oliver whispers, checking his favorite watch, “Ooh, I promised Gerry I’d have you back by two. We’ve got to go.”

Felicity returns in the nick of time to meet with Lily - Professor Martin Stein’s daughter and a genius in her own right. The two ladies first met at M.I.T. Now Lily is head of the nanotech sector in the Research and Development lab at Queen Incorporated. From there, the day drags on, she proceeds to discuss financial rise and decline for various products with the company’s accountant Walter Steele. These kinds of days are moments when Felicity wishes she could be an IT girl — less decisions, responsibilities, and worries. Ultimately, she understands all this hard work is worth it. Honestly, Felicity doesn’t want to be at the office on her birthday. However, it’s a Tuesday, and as the founder of her own company, Felicity knows her work is never done. She’s up to her eyeballs in design schematics. So much so, the boss feels a bit queasy after lunch.

“Gerry, do you mind getting me a lemonade with some saltines?” Felicity requests over speaker phone.

“Not at all, Mrs. Queen. Shall I send in Charlotte as well?”

Charlotte is her in-office medical attendant. With her paralysis, Felicity’s pregnancy is higher risk than most women. Oliver and Felicity handle her intimate health needs at home, but Charlotte is trained to discreetly do those same duties at work. Felicity, being the independent lady she is, detests all the fuss. But as her belly grows, it’s safer for the baby in case of emergency. Felicity’s eyes drape shut when noticing her tubes aren’t clear and her bag is full.

Palming her forehead, the C.E.O acquiesces, “Yes, please.”

The elder red head reports for duty with a buttery brown leather medical bag.

“Good afternoon, Felicity.” Charlotte offers a kind smile, unlocking the door to her en suite restroom. “Let’s have a little look see then.”

“I’m so sorry.” Felicity’s forehead crinkles.

Squeezing her shoulder, the attendant wonders, “Ma’am, may I be frank?”

“Please by all means.”

“Stop apologizing every time, dearie. It’s a part of my job. I rather enjoy helping people.”

“I’ll try.”

After Charlotte aids in getting Felicity all freshened up, another pair of vibrant purple rubber gloves slip on with a smack. She applies topical cream and bandages over pressure sores hidden under the skirt of her lilac dress.

Charlotte checks Felicity’s resting heart rate as well as Baby Queen’s. “Strong just like mum.”

“Good to know. May I take a listen?”

Cleaning the ends with a sterile wipe, the nurse offers, “Anytime.”

Felicity’s ears mainly pick up sloshing amniotic fluid and eventually a strong rhythmic beat indicating this kid would probably be coming out of the womb doing Parkour jumps to match Daddy.

“Wow.” She breathes. “Thank you.”

“Not a problem. See you tomorrow, miss.”

The work day draws to a close. Oliver arrives home at five with Felicity parking right behind him. She disarms the security system in their living room after flicking on a light.

Transferring his wife onto their couch, Oliver hums, “You could use a nap.”

“Uh-huh.” Felicity concurs, wondering. “What time is my surprise birthday dinner I’m not supposed to know about?”

“Seven.” He answers, warning playfully, “And don’t you dare tell Thea I told you.”

She teases under her breath, “Chatty Cathy.”

“Hey!” Oliver’s pitch rises, a bit affronted as he lightly pinches her shoulder.

“Hm, well you are.”

Her husband grumbles, “I know.”

“I like when you tell me everything and anything.”

After a quick catnap, Felicity stirs awake to a familiar pair of lips and stubble prickling her scarred shoulder. She turns onto her side, nose brushing his.

“Hey.” He utters gently.

Voice laden with sleep, she replies softly, “Hi.”

“Someone looks like she had a good dream.”

“Oh, did I?” Her eyebrow raises, caressing the back of his hand with her thumb.

“Yeah, what were you thinking about? It seemed… intense.”

“Um, remember that cabin we rented on the outskirts of the Pacific Crest Trail?” Felicity’s cheeks flush. “The fire, wine, and…”

His voice dips into Green Arrow territory, “When I ate you out by the fireplace.”

“I was going to say amazing sex.” His wife corrects, hiding her face behind a couch cushion. “But that works too.”

Post-diagnosis oral sex had a lot of mishaps in the first trial run. His stubble felt too rough against her dry sensitive skin. Strawberry flavored lubricant tasted artificial and overly sweet. The texture seemed thicker than usual. To make matters worse, the same lube resulted in a minor urinary tract infection for Felicity next morning. The second attempt in that quaint log house under beautiful stars fared better. She gets that orgasms will never be a possibility because her body simply can’t reach that physical peak anymore. Lubrication and nerve damage are real sons of bitch. Felicity certainly misses being able to climax at times. But, oh, that night in the woods would be one she’d never forget. Pleasure sprawled across every nerve ending. It pulsed in her veins, leaving Felicity heated and panting for breath.

“What do you want? Felicity, tell me.”

“Mm, so hot,” she sighs, shaking her head as if to center herself. “We can’t. We’re going to be late to the party."

“I’m always late.”

“But I…”

She opens her mouth to argue, yet silence hinders Felicity’s thought process.

“It’s your birthday. We can do whatever you want for as long as you want.” He promises, nibbling on her earlobe. “I just want to make you feel good.”

Oliver licks the shell of her ear, toying with his wife’s cartilage piercing. A broken gasp falls from her lips.

“Oliver, we c-”

“We can.”

He peppers her neck with wet smooches.

“Ugh, okay. Honey, take everything off and do me.”

Everything includes the intermittent catheter — no bag, port, tubes, and tape. Felicity rolls out of their downstairs guest bathroom beaming like the trip where she, Cisco, Cait, and Charlotte went to the most massive Tech Village Store in Gotham. It was her own personal Disneyland. Felicity’s lilac frock rucks up past her ass. She yanks it over her head, and wastes no time removing her plain nude maternity bra. His mitigated gaze lingers on her bare body Orange embers accentuate the cliché radiant pregnancy glow on her skin. The swell of her belly, housing this little human who will be just his or her mom, is absolutely beautiful. Her already gorgeous breasts are a tad fuller than usual. Oliver licks his lips at the stunning sight before him. And those scars - ones she wears like badges of honor - become oh, so sensitive.

A growl rumbles from deep in his throat, “So fucking sexy.”

“Well, are you going to stand there gawking, or are you going to do something about it?”

His bare feet pad the frigid hardwood floor. Crackling sparks are the only sounds weighting the room.

Words aren’t necessary. He drops his white undershirt next to her work clothes. She smirks when he eases his striped boxers, stepping out of them quickly. Felicity anticipates his next move with baited breath. Their mouths meld together in a searing kiss before Oliver hoists her in his strong arms as if she weighs nothing. Her legs stick to the gel padded seat, and her growing stomach limits how close they can get. Yet nothing deters them. The baby apparently sees this as an opportunity to make its presence known with a swift swimming hand movement.

“We thought you were asleep, sweetie.” Oliver chuckles, gaze flicking down to her belly. “Daddy’s going to do something very naughty with mama, so cover your ears.”

Baby Queen kicks when Felicity’s hand slips from Oliver’s broad shoulder.

The mama-to-be soothes, “Settle down, Bubba.”

Desires quell if only for a moment. They smile at each other. Oliver’s hand dwarfs hers when those jabs, kicks, and flutters temporarily cease. Felicity fully expects Oliver to pull her into his lap, and their hips would move in a tantalizing slow grind, but that’s not what he does. Akin to that amazing night in the cabin, Oliver lays Felicity gently on the cushions. Her messy locks splay out over the arm of the couch. Oliver resumes his ministrations, mapping out his wife’s nude body. His calloused hands match the roughness of her mangled skin. His teeth softly graze her belly button. Felicity shudders, fingers threading through his short spiky blonde locks. A kiss lingers on her pelvis. She bites her lip.

“I love when you do that.” Oliver murmurs against her skin.

“H-honey, we can’t. Dr. Schwartz.” Felicity cautions through clenched teeth, “S-she warned us about…”

“Air embolisms, I remember.”

Felicity longs for those mornings when Oliver would wake her up with his head between her legs. However, it certainly isn’t worth a life-threatening risk to herself and the baby — even if the likelihood is rare. Oliver pushes off the couch, half-hard as he strides over to the bathroom.

“Why? What are you doing?”

He plants a fleeting smooch to her nose.

“Lube and I’ve read something that might help.” Her husband reminds, “I’ll be right back.”

He returns with a wet washcloth and bottle of KY. Oliver spreads her legs, pressing the cool rag against her core. A smile creases on her lips at his tenderness. Water moistens her dry sensitive skin. Oliver then proceeds to coat two digits in an ample amount of lubricant. Felicity does the same, massaging some in and out of her core. His blue eyes flicker up to hers with a boyish grin.

“Come here.”

Oliver props up onto his forearms, body blanketing hers.

“Whatever you want.”

Breath ghosting over his lips, Felicity demands,“Kiss me.”

His mouth slants over hers. Their tongues tangle in a battle for dominance — one he typically lets her win. Oliver guides her hips, pulling Felicity into his lap. A hand travels between their bodies, fingers sneaking into that sweltering clutch. Heat rises in her body. She can’t feel it. She’s not supposed to be able to anymore, but that doesn’t stop the moan, which breaks their passionate smooch. His free hand leaves her scarred back, palming her breast. She whimpers. Oliver is everywhere all at once — inside her, over her, around her. It’s an all-consuming sensory overload and she revels in it. His stubble rasps at the column of her throat. His fingers falter. Oliver’s palm squeezes tighter, and he nips at her pulse point. A shout of ecstasy rings throughout the room.

“I love you.” He breathes, “I love you so damn much.”

“Oliver, don’t stop. Don’t stop.” She pleads, “Shit… That feels so, oh!”

Her body ignites as a mix of pain and pleasure. The war within her body and mind emanate from every which way. Realistically, some of those feelings are no longer here. Heat and a super-thin dull pressure are a couple of the only sensations she can pick on during sex, although it seems like she’s right on the precipice. But it doesn’t go anywhere. Small sharp pains prod her sides. She pushes him back. Concern washes over her husband’s face.

“What? What is it? Did I do something wrong?”

“I can’t. I can’t do this right now.”

He cups her face delicately, “Okay, are you hurting?”

She nods in his hands. Felicity reads her husband like a book. He thinks this is all his fault.

“It’s not you, i swear. I just can’t.”

“I understand. Maybe we can try again later if you want.”

“Oliver, not tonight. Let’s just get dressed and go to the party.”

“Alright.”

Oliver knows his wife like the number of arrows in his quiver. He understands when something is wrong, but doesn’t push the issue until she’s ready to talk about it. Felicity swaps her dress for dark stretchy jeans with a white flowy blouse, flat brown ankle boots, her new gold locket, and a black cotton vest. For once, Oliver uses his new spectacles, throwing on a pair of dark denim jeans with a sky blue button up, crimson tie, and a gray suit vest.

Pinching her furrowed brow, Felicity surmises, “I know you want to talk about what happened, but it’ll have to wait ‘til after the party.”

“I’m holding you to that.”

They arrive at Kayanan cafe. All Felicity’s guests gather in a large group. They avoid yelling, “Surprise!” With both Oliver and Felicity’s PTSD, that definitely wouldn’t go well. Curtis would end up flat on his back, and Quentin would be pummeled by her cerulean pocketbook.

Quentin initiates with a sly smirk, “Happy birthday, Ms. First Lady.”

“Thank you.” His stepdaughter giggles, pulling at his wrist for a hug.

“Alright, who had 8:30 in the bunker pool?” The Deputy Mayor queries to their team.

“Yeah, D.” Rene cheers, holding up his hand for a high-five, “Ganamos (We won.)”

Rene, baja su mano, amor ahora. (Put your hand down, love now.)

“Ay, chica. (Hey girl.)” Rene points out, lifting her chin, “Sólo bromeo (I’m just kidding.)"

“Mm-hm.”

“Aw man.” Curtis whines, stomping his foot like a child. “I had nine.”

Thea chimes, swaying in Mackenzie’s arms, “We had 8:45.”

“Well, there goes dinner.” Felicity comments, shrugging, “So now what?”

“Well, I know Ollie, and we figured you two would be late, so…”

Mackenzie finishes, “We thought it’d be better to have an all you can eat dessert bar instead.”

A long table lines the side of the private event space. Rows of assorted chocolates, brownies, chocolate truffles, cake pops, fruits, coconuts, and cookies cover every inch. But the best part of all is that three tier flowing chocolate fountain. Though, if partygoers want a savory bite quiche, pigs in a blanket, and crab puffs are at the other side of the room.

“Wow.” Oliver whistles, “I wish I had something to do with this, but it was all Thea.”

His sister boasts, popping the collar of her shirt dress. “Well, I am Moira Queen’s daughter.”

“Ahem, Baby girl had a lot of help from Lord Mesa bakery.” Mackenzie adds.

“Really, Honey, you couldn’t let me have this one?”

With a pop on the p, the detective replies, “Nope.”

“Sorry, we’re late.”

A familiar voice speaks up. “The guest of honor is never late to her own shindig, Oliver.

“Rory?” Felicity squeals, resembling Donna. Though Oliver wisely keeps his trap shut.

The former vigilante announces, “Yom hu'ledet sameach, Felicity (Happy birthday, Felicity.).

Rory kneels down for a hug. “She Blinded With Science” pulses over the overhead speakers. Everyone nibbles on sweet and savory treats. While sipping on coconut milk straight from the source with an orange umbrella, Thea and Mackenzie present their gift — a trip to a spa in Keystone. Rory fishes out a handmade dream catcher. Quentin goes the more practical route with a magenta taser just in case. Lastly, Rene and Dinah’s present is quite the surprise.

“I can’t believe they let you bring a dog in here.” Oliver notes, feeding his wife a brownie bite.

With the morsel stuffed to one side of her mouth, Felicity agrees, “Me too. Whose is he?”

“Yours.” The couple tells them simultaneously.

Oliver grins from ear-to-ear, revealing he’s in the surprise.

“Really? But last time…”

“I wanted to make sure we found the right pooch. This is Lou, Felicity. He’s two years old, a retired Army bomb-sniffing dog before he became a trained service animal, and I think he’s perfect for you.”

Asking the black labrador as if he’ll answer, the brunette asks,“Well, what do you think, dude?”

Lou barks with a vigorous tail wag.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Felicity thinks, scratching under his chin.

He licks her hand in gratitude. Donna stops by fashionably late after her shift at McGuire’s Bar is done.

“Hey, mama. You made it.”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, munchkin. How’s my little girl?”

“Pretty good.”

Shrugging off her black lace coat, Donna would squat down, but that fuchsia frock hugs all her curves snugly.

“And how’s my grandbaby?”

Her son-in-law answers, “Perfect just like mama.”

Dimples pool in Felicity’s cheeks. Her mother, well being her mother, purchases a bib with a computer keyboard print for her grandbaby and a mint green slightly see-through cotton nightie, so Oliver and Felicity can give her future grandchildren and a nice department store perfume. They video chat with William, Samantha, and Christopher before he’s down for the count. Dinah closes out the shindig by belting out Etta James’ “At Last” with Rory on piano as she owns the stage in a canary yellow romper. It brings happy tears to Felicity’s eyes. Oliver swoops down, wiping her cheeks with his thumbs.

She sniffles, “I’d marry you all over again.”

“So would I.”

Oliver, Felicity, Thea, and Mackenzie head to their cars.

“Hey Ollie, Felicity, how’s Dig doing?”

After a long beat, Felicity sighs, “He’s made some progress.”

“But he’s still got a ways to go.”

Thea recalls, “Well, Dr. Quinnzel’s amazing Lyla says so.”

“It just going to take some time.”

Felicity counts the ripples in their bedroom ceiling. She busies herself by absentmindedly caressing her belly and new furry friend sitting by their bed.

Her husband prompts, climbing in on his side, “Can we talk? Back there in the living room...”

She rolls on her side, facing him. Her baby bump is cocooned between their bodies.

“It has nothing to do with you and everything is on me.”

A wrinkle forms between his brows, “What do you mean everything?”

“Dr. Schwartz and Dr. Allen gave us the medical version of sex while paralyzed and pregnancy, and it’s amazing alw…”

“Not always for you. The truth please, Felicity.”

“Fine. I hate not being in control of my own body, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss orgasms. What woman wouldn’t? But we both know it’s not an option anymore. I got really frustrated. That’s all. Sometimes it feels like I’m right there and then it goes away.”

Well, there isn’t some technological or magical fix-it to cope with this issue. They understand that.

“I’m sorry I can’t…”

“Oliver, don’t apologize. This is not your problem.”

“You’re right. It’s _our_ problem, so is there anything you want me to do differently?”

Covering the baby’s ears, his wife suggests in a low whisper, “Maybe next time we could try watching each other m-a-s-t-u-r-b-a-t-e.”

“Okay.” He agrees, cradling two of his people in his arms, “What else? Tell me.”

“Talk to me more during s-e-x. It helps.”

“Gotcha. And you know I would never want you to feel uncomfortable, so same goes for you.”

The conversation continues well past midnight. They share laughter, love, and whispered sweet nothings until Felicity drifts off to sleep. They may be blessed, but their lives are far from perfect. Their sex life needs some fine tuning, but Oliver’s happy his wife has a pretty good birthday.


	11. Coast City Adventures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt 11:** Get down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a little something different for Olicity Hiatus-Fic-a-Thon.

## “Get down”

I had too many ideas for this prompt, so I decided to change it up a bit. Click for to see full image and read comments.


	12. Family First

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt 12:** Impaired Judgement

Oliver unzipped his leather jacket. His left eye was near swollen shut, purple and angry looking. Lower lip trickled with a thin line of blood.

“Hey we’re home.” Lyla calls up, mouthing silently. “Oliver, I’m sorry.”

He understood that better than anyone, but the bar fight wasn’t Lyla’s or Dig’s faults.

Felicity chimed, “We’re up here in the nursery.”

Lyla aided Oliver in the usually simple climb upstairs. His heavy muscular frame sagged against the ARGUS director halfway as they huffed and puffed through the hallway.

“M’kay.” Oliver assured.

“Oh my God.” Felicity gasped, hand covering her mouth in shock. “Oliver, honey, what happened?”

“Cool!” William exclaimed proudly, “Dad got in a bar fight? Did you stop a bad guy? Was he trying to rob the place?”

“William Connor Clayton, fights are not ‘cool’” His stepmother corrected, instructing, “Go brush your teeth, wash your face, and head off to bed.”

“But Felicity...”

“ _Now._ "

Her tone and his father’s best parental glare, despite the shiner sent the teenager marching off to the bathroom with a muttered “Yes, Ma’am.” With a loud grunt, Lyla lifted her very pregnant friend into her wheelchair.

“Lyla, what’s going on? Did you three go on a mission without me?”

Eyes shining with regret, Lyla explained, “Johnny hit Oliver and a customer at the bar.”

“Honey, I know you and Dig are like brothers. And you two get in a pissing contest every now and again, but what the Hell, sorry Tommy, heck did you do?”

Lyla smiled through the tension, almost surprised she was able to do so, considering the circumstances.

Squatting down to her level, he booped her nose. “Why do you always assume it was me?”

“Well…” His wife mentioned, pitch rising, “Your track record points me in that direction more often than not, my love.”

“Fair enough,” Her husband easily acquiesced with  a shrug.

Scrubbing her face, their friend recalled, “Johnny had another episode.”

“Where was he this time?”

“Back in Afghanistan.”

Lyla sighed, “He made so much progress, off the meds, and in good spirits. This was supposed to his last month of treatment. Dr. Quinnzel has him on a 51/50 hold at ARGUS. I have to call the nanny, and ask her to stay overnight.”

The trio descended the staircase.

“Okay. I’m going to grab an ice pack.”

Felicity nodded, holding Oliver’s hand as they ventured into the kitchen.

“Lyla, you’re staying here tonight.” The brunette hacker insisted, tossing Oliver a frozen bag of peas.

“I’d rather be with…”

“You know with a 51/50 hold, it’s probably not the best idea to have family members around on the first night. Sara and J.J. will be fine with Lindsay.”

“Fine, but not a word to the kids. I’ll do a video chat before bed.”

Rolling towards her chairlift, Felicity offered, “C’mon, you can borrow my pajamas.”

“I’ll set up the cot in our office. Hope you don’t mind.”

“You do know when I was a private in the Army, my first mission was building new schools for young girls in Kenya. A cot with a roof over my head and friends is heaven on Earth for a woman like me.”

“Roger that, soldier.” Felicity smirked, intertwining her and Lyla’s fingertips,

The couple heard sniffling right before Lyla drifted off to sleep. As much as they wanted to go in and comfort her. The fierce warrior and Michaels’ blood coursing through her veins were every indication Lyla preferred to handle grief on her own.

Oliver and Felicity retreated back to their son’s new room. Their dog Lou stood on his back paws, flicking on a soft light. He found comfort on the cool wood floor in the space between his owners. Sonogram photos, pictures with Samantha, Will, Christopher, Thea, and Mackenzie piled on the floor next to a pale yellow album. Felicity quickly snapped another weekly photo of her belly with a Polaroid camera — one she used to tease her husband about using — and waited until he was ready to talk.

“Baby, are you sure you want to hear the whole story? I warn you, it’s heavy.”

“He’s our friend, Oliver. I need to know.” His wife demanded, flexing her bicep. “Besides, have you seen my arms?”

He chuckled, grunting as he joined Felicity on the floor, “I needed that laugh tonight.”

“I know.” She surmed, carefully caressing his cheek on the right side, “So talk to me.”

* * *

  _ **A Few Hours Earlier**_

Oliver approached The Diggles at McGuire’s Bar, clearing his throat. The place roused with chatter, breaks at pool tables, and it wafted with scents of delicious fried food. The duo broke from their soft sweet pecks.

“Hey.” He greeted, pulling up a stool, “I know I’m the third wheel tonight, but can we cool it on the smooches?”

“Ha!” Dig snorted. “You’re just jealous.”

“Totally.” Oliver pointed to his cheek.

The former Master Sergeant planted a big platonic wet kiss on his friend’s stubbly cheek. If Felicity was here, Lyla would do the same. The ladies also would'vd held hands along the pier while Oliver and Dig discussed mundane preseason games.

“Where’s my girl?” Lyla looked around, trying to spot a vibrant purple chair, “I wouldn’t want to break up this bromance.”

“Home with Will,” replied the off-duty Emerald archer. “They said they could use a night without me cramping their style, so she sends her love.”

A bartender slides over a dark ale beer in a frosty mug, and Oliver catches the glass in his hand.

“Mr. Mayor, No First Lady Felicity joining y’all tonight?” The bartender questions, noting, “I know how much she loves my Cajun popcorn chicken.”

“She does, but Felicity's chilling with kiddos.”

“Ah, okay. You two stop on by anytime you like. You know I got good grub for whatever her cute pregnant belly craves.”

After a swig, he agreed, “I know. You’re making me doubt my skills in the kitchen, D.”

“You should, Queenie.” She winked, “And when your better half pops the kid out, let me know, I’ve got a chocolate strawberry martini with her name on it. Moms also said she found you lovebirds a little nest for… you know.”

“Bali,” Dig whispered with an eyebrow raise.

“Shh,” His brother cut in, resembling a hissing tire. “Paparazzi are everywhere.”

Bar owner Dani and her mother Estelle who sold the Queens a home of their dreams were two of the most successful women in Star City apart from Felicity Queen herself.

Lyla clapped, “Okay, gentleman, rack ‘em up. Oh, and I hope you brought your wallets because mama could use a new pair of shoes.”

“Sweetie, no bets. Just celebrating.”

“Fine, but I really could use some shoes. My favorite heel broke in front of a Probie yesterday.”

Balls clunked into corner pockets. Despite no betting policy, Lyla won five bucks from her husband to see how long it would take for Oliver to check on his family. He only made it about an hour before sneaking off to the men’s rooms to make a very important phone call. Not ten minutes later, did the Diggles cave with a call to their nanny Lindsay to ensure Sara and J.J. were almost down for the count at this hour.

“Bye bye, mama.” Sara’s little voice crackled over speaker, “Bye Daddy. Love you.”

“Luh too.” J.J. babbled, spitting on the phone.

“We love you two.”

She hummed, “Hm, how much?”

“To the moon and back.” Oliver finished.

“Uh-huh. Good night, Uncle Ollie.”

“Good night, Princess. You and J.J. be good for Lindsay okay?”

“Ya!” J.J. shouted.

“I’ll look out for Mommy and Daddy.”

The toddler yawned, “You always do, Uncle Ollie.”

Lyla cut the line, delegating a few brief instructions to Lindsay. The trio resumed their evening. They munched on sliders and fries when a belligerent drunken customer smacked Dani’s ass.

“This ain’t what I ordered, sweet thang.” The man quipped, picking stray cheese from his scraggly beard.

She bent his wrist back with a crack, venom seething in her hold, “You’re outta here, estupido. Try that again, and you’re banned from my bar.”

“Bitch!” He huffed, purposefully tripping her.

Food clattered onto the floor. Glasses shattered around her. The idiot had the audacity to laugh in her face. Lyla would’ve pinned the stout jerk flat n his back in seconds, but her husband stepped in first. He threw the first punch, wishing he had a Glock at his side. Lyla clasped her purse, concealing her weapon before her man got any bright ideas.

“Johnny, stop it!” Lyla commanded, voice piercing through the jukebox music, “Hey, enough.”

Another crack to the guy’s face.

“I could’ve saved her. I could’ve saved her!”

John experienced flashes back to that tiny village in the dessert. Frightened civilians scattered onto dirt roads, fleeing for their lives as enemy fire bombarded their humble homes It was supposed a routine surveilance and protection mission, but those faces, terror, anguish, death - the ones he couldn't save - were ghosts he'd never forgotten to this day.

“John, Buddy. I’m fine.” Dani reassured, winded as she stepped around broken glass. A trembling hand clamped over his shoulder, but it was no use.

One punch was something, but John kept pummeling the guy until he was begging for mercy. Oliver pulled Dig off the drunk man. Not before he nailed him with a swift black eye and cut lip.  It was like trying to reign in an angry bull. Oliver and Lyla held him back until an off duty officer called for back up before paramedics administered a sedative.

Tears welling in his eyes, John cried, “I could’ve saved Amina!”

“You’re not at war, man.”

John growled before the medicine overtook his body.

In Dig’s mind, Oliver was an enemy combatant during his second to last tour in Afghanistan. Amina was a local young pregnant gir,l who died in his arms just before a suicide bombing at the hands of her own father. His psychotic break was likely triggered by PTSD, and the unexplained spurt of anger was a symptom neither Oliver nor Lyla could pull him back from. The response team drove Mr. Diggle and company to an ARGUS facility per the director’s wishes.

Dr. Quinnzel advised after examining John, “I’m authorizing a 51/50 hold until we get his head level.”

“Whatever it takes.”

Lyla couldn’t bear the sight of her husband. That rock solid foundation of a man in so much pain. He was dazed and confused, strapped to a hospital bed like some sort of wild animal. Unfortunately, his PTSD symptoms, impaired judgement, and violent outbursts were far more severe than Oliver or Felicity's own post traumatic stress issues combined. Oliver pulled Lyla in for a tight hug, turning her away from John. She sobbed into his neck, breaths jostling against Oliver’s arms. From there, they took a silent ride back to the Queen household.

* * *

_**Present Night** _

“Wow.” Felicity breathed, sputtering, “But h-he was doing so well. John, he was better.”

“I know.” Oliver gulped thickly, “I know.”

They both understood that kind of pain first hand. However, the Queens never thought in their wildest nightmares, it would get this bad.

“Wh-What can we do? Can we see him?”

“Um.” Her husband sniffled, dropping a watery bag of peas on the hardwood floor, “After about a week, Dr. Quinnzel doesn’t want to overwhelm him with too much too soon. And I volunteered to cook dinner for Lyla and the kids. And-and for us to watch Sara and J.J. once a week. Sorry- So sorry. Honey, I know I should’ve talked to you first, but…”

Felicity understood, “They’re family first.”

“Yeah.” Oliver’s voice broke.

Oliver pulled Felicity into his lap, holding each other. Their hands stroked over her belly and felt firm kicks against their palms.

Cupping his face delicately, though mindful of his eye, she wondered, “Is John going to be okay?”

“Honestly.” Oliver hesitated, lightly grabbing her wrists, “I don’t know.


	13. Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt 13:** Sleepless

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shocker at the end. Let me know what y'all think

A small hand sweeps across Oliver’s broad veiny arm. Their fingertips intertwine at center of an elevator in the narrow distance between them. Felicity’s lips curl in a frown. The Queens leave Starling General after a scheduled checkup with Dr. Elena Rivera. A crinkle mars between her brows.

“Hey.” Her husband speaks up, breaking the comfortable silence between them. “It’s going to be fine. Dr. Rivers says if anything’s wrong with the blood test, she’ll call us before one o’clock tomorrow.”

Felicity sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose, “I know. I know.”

“Well, then what are you worried about? And don’t say nothing.”

“It’s not important, Oliver."

“Felicity.”

Ugh, why does he have to draw out her name like melted chocolate coating a nice hearty scoop of vanilla ice cream. No way in Hell Felicity wants any sugar after swallowing a dose of Glucola. The elevator dings. Oliver steps behind his wife, pushing her chair along the slight uphill incline to their parking space.

“Honey, stop.” His wife insists, hands gripping the push rims, “I’ve got it.”

“Relax your arm.”

She grumbles, mimicking her husband’s tone, “Oliver.”

“Please let me.” Oliver says gently, “Just this once.”

“Fine.”

Tucking Aviator shades into his crisp blue shirt, their bodyguard Dwayne reports, “Mayor Queen..."

“Oliver.” His boss corrects.

“Oliver, paparazzi are on site, how shall we proceed?”

“You and Azi form an Alpha perimeter around Mrs. Queen now. I don’t want those sleezebags within five feet of my wife and child.”

“Hon, I hardly think this is necessary.”

His azure eyes burn into her. She detests the royal couple treatment from anybody. They are far from Will and Kate. However, her mule-headed husband goes overboard when it boils down to protecting Tommy and her. He was the same way with Samantha and William. In fact, it was one of the reasons Oliver and Sam broke up, right after he punched a photographer, who nearly tripped his then very pregnant girlfriend. But that’s not the kind of man Oliver is anymore.

Rolling her eyes, the C.E.O. relents, “Dwayne, Azi, you heard the man.”

“Thank you.” He mouths, gaze descending to his wife.

The brunette hacker mutters silently, “I’m sorry.”

“It is our job, Felicity.” Azi reminds, adjusting moss green star printed hijab.

Oliver, Dwayne, and Azila form an A-frame or triangle around Felicity as they make their way out of the parking garage to the two vehicles in the handicap section. Four shutterbugs are on the duo akin to flies and honey, although Dwayne and Azi maintain their boss' instructions. Felicity’s pulse spikes at rapid continuous clicking sounds.

A bearded man with a beer belly garners for attention, panting while he snaps countless attempted pictures of the First Couple “How are you feeling, Mrs. Queen?”

Per Oliver’s insistence, Dwayne and Azi block the so-called money shot.

Clearly affronted, the pap quips, “Bro, can you move out the way?”

“I ain’t your bro, son. Back it up.”

“Why didn’t you answer his call yesterday, Lissy?” A redhead eggs on, relentlessly shooting away.

Oliver growls, whiteknucking the back handle of his wife’s wheelchair. Azi looks to him, assuring her friend she’s got this handled.

How the Hell does she know about that nickname. Granted, Felicity doesn’t like nicknames usually. But her bubbe and Oliver are the only two people allowed to call her that. She doesn’t even let Donna, her own mother, use it. Oliver rarely uses it when he’s trying to pull his wife away from her precious tech. He said it simply yesterday on a call to his wife’s work phone from City Hall.

“Felicity, Felicity, Baby, pick up. Did you eat lunch?” The first call was followed by, “Lissy, please leave the PC for a bit. I packed you apple slices and sunbutter. You need to eat, Babe. C’mon. Call me back soon. I have a break at one. Love you.”

Azila ‘accidentally’ swats the lady with her exquisite printed hijab as they cross paths. A fancy camera clatters on cement.

“Hey, this cost me six hundred dollars.”

Hand covering her mouth, Azi teases cheekily, “My deepest apologies, madam.”

The hard line creasing Oliver’s forehead softly. They gather around the Queens’ silver Lexus. Azi stands watch while Dwayne swiftly takes apart his boss’ vibrant purple chair, tucking it in the trunk after the off-duty Emerald Archer carries his wife to the passenger seat.

The bearded pap rat chuckles, “Ooh, you get grunt work too, esse?”

Dwayne's hand stoically brushes over his bald head to retrieve those shades. Felicity snatches the placard from their rear view mirror as Oliver backs out of the space once Dwayne and Azi are in their own truck. Oliver and Felicity both take a half day from work, heading home. His hand guards her heart as they reach a red light.

“There’s either a leak in my office or yours.” Oliver growls.

“Honey, calm down. We’ll find them when we’re at the bunker tonight.”

“Someone was listening to our private conversations, Felicity.”

“I understand, but we can’t worry about it now. I want to go home. My back is killing me.”

The drive back to Alexander Avenue is weighted with tension. Oliver is fuming, but Felicity’s aches and pains make themselves known. Spasms ripple through her lower back. She groans, arching her torso away from multiple pillows when they retreat to their bedroom. Her face scrunches in discontent.

She rolls onto her side, lifting her legs into an almost fetal position. Oliver’s knees crack as his calloused hands contrast the soft cotton of her “Human growing” message t-shirt. He kneads over her scarred flesh, fixating on those huge knots. She grunts, reaching behind her.

“What? Did I do something wrong?”

His wife rasps, “Too hard.”

“Sorry, sorry.”

His face crumples anxiously.

“It’s okay.”

He tucks a wavy strand behind her ear, “What do you need?”

“My pillow and some water — anything to wash that nasty ass Glucola out of my mouth.”

Her husband grins, “Tommy’s ears, Babe. I’ve never seen you make a face that disgusted in my life — even when Lyla had us try her new tofu recipe.”

“Lyla lied to me. Glucola doesn’t taste like soda. It tastes like sh… poop.”

The neon concoction resembles orange soda, but it’s horrid — flat soda laced with an obscene amount of sugar. Hopefully, she’s in the clear and has no signs of gestational diabetes as if Felicity doesn’t have enough problems.

Tossing his wife’s denim shirt in the hamper, Oliver whispers, “You took that needle like a champ.”

“I did, didn’t I?” Felicity smiles, facing him. Though, it quickly turns South. “But ugh, stupid hospital bed with a scale.”

“Honey, they have to check your weight. It’s just to make sure you and our little guy are both healthy.”

“Eighteen pounds since Tommy was conceived, Oliver, and I’m only going to get fatter.”

“Aw, I think you look beautiful.”

“Oh, cut the crap, Queen.”

Oliver reminds, “Bubba’s just getting bigger. That’s all.”

“Na-uh.” She protests petulantly. “I’m going to be huge, aren’t I?”

“Well, Tommy needs room to grow. C’mon, Baby. Dr. Rivera says you’re right on target at this stage of the pregnancy."

His wife harrumphs, “Not helping.”

“Well, once your back pain subsides, I can show you how sexy I know you are.”

“Not happening tonight, Buster. In case you haven’t noticed, my sleep schedule is all out whack.”

Licking his lips, he acknowledges, “That hasn’t escaped my attention.”

Heartburn, frequent catheter changes, muscle pain, and a baby who does Parkour flips in her belly don’t help matters. Though. Tommy settles as does Felicity when she spoons with her long body pillow.The pillow and an ice pack are welcomed comforts over those twinges along her spine.

“Mmm...” She hums, placing her glasses on the nightstand, “Much better.”

“Are you going to tell me what’s…” Oliver notes, caressing her belly, “Thanks for letting mama sleep, Buddy.”

* * *

  _ **Felicity’s Dream**_

The brunette hacker returns to her original blonde locks. She awakes in single twin bed, hand drifting down to her baby bump instinctively. Yet her stomach is flat. She gasps in fear, and soon gone are the last vestiges of sleep. Metal walls around the room are hazy. A reflection in the window show she’s physically fine, but what in God’s name is going on? The polka dot dress definitely isn’t hers, and when in the hell did she get bangs? She hates bangs. Felicity’s ears perk up to the sound of a crying baby.

“Guys!” Felicity yells to Thea and Dig who don’t hear her, “Where is that coming from?”

The crying grows louder. She runs barefoot down a long corridor. Upon reaching her destination, she spies Oliver, Samantha, and William looking forever the happy family of three. A younger version of Noah and Donna place the infant with a lavender blanket on a flourscent backlit medbay table.

“She’s adorable.” Samantha admits, asking, “Why don’t we have another one?”

“We will soon. Sam.” Oliver promises, kissing her small baby bump.

William complains, “Gross.”

“Goodbye, Felicity.” Noah says, unable to look back at his infant daughter.

Donna confesses, “We love so much, baby girl. We just can’t take care of you anymore.”

“It’s the right thing to do, D.” Her husband reassures, slinging an arm around her.

William draws out, echoing throughout the tiny enclosed area, “Bye Felicity. See you never.”

Both families vanish into thin air. The baby’s cries become louder, erratic, and intense.

“No, no, no! Don’t leave her! Don’t leave me please!” Felicity pleads, “Where am I? Where’s my baby? My baby…”

* * *

  _ **Present Day**_

“Baby, hey, hey, it’s me.” Oliver warns, nudging her shoulder, “Felicity, wake up. Come on.”

Her eyelids fly open. A sharp breath slips from her mouth. Felicity’s vision is smeary without her spectacles as she looks around a familiar bedroom, trying to orient herself to her surroundings. She finds Oliver holding her steady with a cold wet face towel on her cheek. Felicity doesn’t say a word, hand honing in on her baby bump. The swell of her growing stomach is prominent.

“Honey, I’m fine.” Felicity fibs.

“You are not. When I came up here to take out the ice pack, I found Lou barking and laying on top of you to keep you two falling off the bed.”

“You did that, Boy?”

As if the black Lab understands, he woofs in response, pressing a kind paw to her hand.

She sighs, scratching his ear, “Good job.”

“What’s going on?”

“Bad dream.” His wife answers like it’s nothing.

“Clearly.” Oliver snipes, adopting a gentle tone, “About what?”

“I don’t remember.”

He examines her face. She can’t even give her husband so much as a passing glance.

“Since when did you start lying to me?”

Felicity laughs incredulously, “Don’t go there, or need I remind you how many times you lied to me when we first met? Look I know what you’re going to say ‘Talk to me, Felicity.”

“Yeah, you know it’ll help you feel better. So was it the island? Darhk? Adrian? The ambush?”

“Oliver!” She commands, loudness causing her strong service dog to whimper. “Drop it.”

“No, I won’t know how to help you when you’re shutting me out.”

“I’m shutting you out because guess what, dumbass? I don’t want to talk about it now.”

“You called me dumbass.”

“Oh, what? Did I hurt the big bad Green Arrow’s feelings?”

“No, you haven’t called me that since you thought giving me an out was a better option after I found you and the team on Lian Yu. Look at me, I am not leaving you ever. I love you more than you know, and we made a promise to each other. Now tell me what the Hell is going on?”

After a long beat, his wife mentions, “Look, it’s not post traumatic stress. I-I don’t know what it is.”

“Okay, but something’s scaring you. Please let me in.”

“I can’t - not yet at least.”

Staring her down, they look each other square in the eye, “When?”

“Just give me time. I need to research. Can you grab my chair please? I could use some lunch right about now.”

“Okay, and Felicity?”

She grunts, using her hands to lift her legs off the bed, “Yeah.”

“Whatever you’re getting into, be careful.”

“Always am.” The expectant mother winks.

Felicity is annoyed by the fact that she can’t be as independent as she hopes. Oliver aids in bed-to-transfers more with their growing son, currently housed in her belly. But now that seems to be the least of her worries. Her extensive search about what Felicity believes to be happening leads o a slew of hidden files and night after night of very little sleep.

Three days after their argument, Oliver and Felicity leave their lamaze class in Aparo Square.

Oliver cringes, white as a sheet, “That C-Section video…”

“I can’t ever unsee that, but it sounds like the best option for us.”

They stop for a to-go dinner at Warner restaurant a block away from class, despite the medical imagery they recently witnessed. Felicity peeks in the paper bag, checking on grilled turkey burger with a whole wheat bun, avocado mash, kale, mustard, and bell pepper slices. She tries to pluck a crisp twenty dollar bill out of a cup in her bra, but instead a crimson thumb drive falls into her hand.

Forehead crinkling, her husband inquires, “I’ve got it. Can we finally talk about this we get home?”

“Yeah, I’m ready.”

Though, muscle pain rears its ugly head again and the goddam heartburn isn’t helping either. Thankfully, a cold glass of milk helps relieve some of her symptoms. Oliver rolls out his wife’s old lavender yoga mat. He suggests meditation.

The couple sits cross-legged on the floor, facing one another.

“I haven’t done this in awhile, but it might help.”

Felicity recalls, “Yao Fei taught you.”

“Mm-hm.” He nods, slipping off his shirt.

“Honey, how am I ever going to concentrate when you're looking all hot and sexy?”

“Close your eyes. Take my hands, and breathe with me.”

“Omm,” She chants, similar to what’s she’s read in novels.

Oliver lets out a hearty laugh, “What are you doing?”

“Well, isn’t that how meditation works?”

He shakes his head, “Nope, but you’re adorable.”

“You know it.” Felicity boasts, imitating Mr. Myagi as she places a ring in her palm “What’s next? Snatch the pebble from my hand, young one, if you’re worthy.”

Oliver speaks softly with a hand over his heart, “I may never be worthy of your presence, Mrs. Queen.”

“Yes, you are. Never forget that and take the damn pebble from my hand.”

Her husband slips the wedding band back on her ring finger, where it belongs before he pecks her knuckles.

“Relax and breathe with me. Feel every muscle in your body easing the pain away.”

Her eyes drape shut as do his. Their breathing is damn near in perfect sync. The pain in her back melts away slowly with each tick of the clock above them. Oliver and Felicity have never felt so connected — the yin to his yang. With pain subsiding, muscle by muscle, a mischievous grin tilts on Felicity’s lips. She peeks with one eye open and notices a calming warm orange healing glow from the tattoo Constantine transferred onto her husband’s abs.

His wife gasps, “When were you going to tell me about your magical tattoo?”

It honestly hasn’t come up since they defeated Damien Darhk.

“You saw it in action when Fortuna trained me against Darhk.” He thinks, wondering, “Didn’t you?”

“Um, I would’ve remembered it glowing."

He shrugs as if it isn’t one of the biggest revelations about his past yet, “According to John, it protects and the host body with the purest heart, but in moments of connection to the spiritual realm i.e. meditation, it glows as a reminder of times of pure peace and happiness, especially to those who need it.”

His tattoo glowed not for him, but for Felicity, surrounding the one he loves the most with warmth, peace, and joy. Granted, it won’t cure her paralysis, but she feels for the briefest of moments, relieved, calm, and happy. That alone is a feat within itself, considering these past few nearly sleepless nights.

“Okay.” She stretches out the word, not even trying to comprehend mystical mumbo jumbo as a woman of science.

He presses, “I showed you mine, you show me yours, Felicity.”

“Alright.”

They stride over to her laptop. Numerous files pop up on screen after she plugs in the USB from her bra.

“What exactly are we looking at?”

Zooming in on a document, Felicity reads aloud, “Rebekah Claire Raymond born July 24th, 1989. In other words, Noah Kuttler and Donna Smoak aren’t my parents. I think I’m adopted.”


	14. A Woman Walks out of a Bar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt 14:** Ask

_**Previously on Summer Vacation** _

_He presses, “I showed you mine, you show me yours, Felicity.”_

_“Alright.”_

_They stride over to her laptop. Numerous files pop up on screen after she plugs in the USB from her bra._

_“What exactly are we looking at?”_

_Zooming in on a document, Felicity reads aloud, “Rebekah Claire Raymond born July 24th, 1989. In other words, Noah Kuttler and Donna Smoak aren’t my parents. I think I’m adopted.”_

* * *

Scratch out “I think” Felicity knows she is in fact adopted. Why has Donna never told her? What else have Donna been keeping from her? Felicity Megan Queen is the best hacker in the world. Caitlin gifted her a birthday mug which says so. She could’ve looked up this information thousands of times in the past twenty-nine years. But after her father - Noah - left, or rather they left him when Felicity was seven, the heartache was simply too painful. She wanted nothing to do with the man who left her. Apparently, Kuttler isn’t the only one. Everything Felicity know about her life changes with one redacted government file she decrypted.

Pushing those thoughts out her mind, Felicity’s eyes gradually open when early morning sunlight peeks through tree leaves surrounding their home. Oliver’s sky blue button up shirt stretches over the swell of her growing belly. She grimaces at the medicinal earthy taste of herbal tea in her mug. Lou, her trusted companion, lays under sun rays. This window seat is one of Felicity’s favorite spots in their home apart from the secondary lair and nursery. She takes another sip, and her face crumples in disgust.

“You hate herbal tea,” Oliver acknowledges, voice husky with sleep.

“True, but it’s good for our little dude.”

“Yeah,” he concurs, bare feet padding the hardwood floor, “And how are Mommy and Tommy doing today?”

Tapping her nude lips, his wife points out, “ _Your_ son was parkour jumps on my poor bladder.”

“Why is Tommy _my_ son only when he misbehaves? And you changed your catheter by yourself?”

Squeezing his scarred shoulder, Felicity intones, “Don’t sound so surprised, mister. Thanks to the Coloplast self-catheter Charlotte recommended, I got this.”

“Felicity, Honey, you need to take it easy.”

“I don’t need you to tell me what to do, Oliver.”

“I’m sorry… I wasn’t… I worry, Baby about both of you.”

“I know. Can you please grab my chair, so we can eat? Lyla’s dropping the kids off in a few hours, and Lindsay will pick ‘em up later. She’s going to see John.”

“Okay.” Oliver says, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Will I be out of the doghouse if I make you my famous banana pumpkin pancakes?”

“Nice try, but Tommy and I are in the mood for some granola.”

A woman can retire from the military, but Lyla never misses a beat. The clock strikes eight on the dot when Lyla arrives at the Queen home with her munchkins in tow.

“Uncle Ollie!” Sara yells, bursting through the door in a Tiana princess dress complete with a Wonder Woman fake lasso. Some days are tough when choosing between superhero and royalty, so why not have the best of both worlds?

“Sara Andrea,” her mother reminds, “Inside voice.”

The toddler’s tone drops to a whisper, “Uncle Ollie. Up please?”

Oliver scoops Sara into his arms, carefully lifting his niece away from the ceiling fan.

“Way up, I’m so high,” she sings.

“Ah, I see you’ve been listening to Big Sean with mama again.” Her aunt Lissy notes, hand following Tommy’s movements.

“Ba-ba!” J.J. squeals in excitement, pointing to his auntie’s belly.

Lyla and Felicity correct simultaneously, “Baby.”

“Ba-ba!”

The group rouses with laughter.

“J.J., you want to say hi to your cousin?”

He nods, climbing onto Felicity’s lap. His loud wet kiss leaves an ample mark on the expectant mother’s coral dress.

“Me too?” Sara asks.

Oliver gently nudges Sara’s shoulder as Felicity smile brightly.

“Hello in there!” Sara speaks up, stretching out the words. She feels soft kicks against her mouth.

She gasps with glee, “He heard me.”

“Mm-hm.” Her aunt winks.

By afternoon, the living room becomes a tornado of multi-colored blocks, toys, and balls. There’s glitter everywhere. How? They don’t know how at first. Because Sara’s dress does not a speck of glitter on it. Though, John Junior’s Elsa doll is another story. Sara settles into Felicity’s lap as they read a _Curious George_ book. Felicity winces as Tommy seizes hard in her belly, squirming as if he’s trapped.

Hand covering an o-shaped mouth, Sara whimpers, “Uh-oh, I did something bad. Uncle Ollie, help!”

“No, no, sweetie. You’re fine. Tommy got stuck.”

Oliver rushes in with a freshly diapered half-dressed J.J.

Concern flits over his face, her husband inquires, “What’s going on? What’d we miss?”

“Nothing. Nothing. Everyone is fine.” His wife assures, shifting so Tommy can move in a more comfortable position, “Tommy’s head got stuck you-know-where.”

“Again?” Oliver chuckles, swooping down to smooch her stomach, “Silly boy.”

“Me?” J.J. points to himself.

“Yup, like you too, Johnny. You sure made a nice big poop over there. What has your mommy and Lindsay been feeding you?”

With a shoulder shrug, the little boy giggles, I dunno.”

“Psghetti, remember? It’s yummy.”

“Oh ya!” J.J. coos with a rapid head bob.

Her little eyebrows knit together with concern, questioning, “I didn’t do anything bad?”

“No of course not, kiddo.” Felicity promises, fingertips sweeping through the toddler springy raven curls, “Do you want to finish reading _Curious George_?”

She agrees skittishly, “Okay.”

Sara scoots towards the opposite end of the couch. They read the ending about how a precocious chimp and the man in a yellow hat went to a farm and saw all the animals — cows, chicken, ducks, and a friendly spider. Felicity rolls her eyes when she notices their black lab Lou is the one who tosses J.J’s soiled diaper in the trash, yet a smile crosses her lips.

“Auntie Lissy?”

“Yes, Princess.”

“Did you read Curious George with your mama when you were little a long time ago?”

Oliver snorts, “A long  time ago, huh?”

“Ha! Uncle Ollie’s way older than me.” She harrumphs after a long beat, tears welling in her eyes, “Yeah, I did.”

It’s difficult to cherish those memories when it all seems like one massive secret. Nap post-story is a welcome reprieve. Oliver, Felicity, Lou, and the kids clean up the gaggle of toys beforehand with only remnants of glitter, which mingle with some small dust bunnies in corners. A familiar willowy brunette picks up the Diggles by five o’clock sharp with a pot roast and lasagna courtesy of Mr. Master Chef.

The off-duty Emerald Archer flops against the mattress.  

“Good practice before Tommy’s born.” Oliver mentions, groaning, “But man, those two are a handful.”

Felicity teases, “You’re getting old, Queen. I feel great.”

“Honey, I’m only four years older than you. We’re hardly Michael Douglas and Catherine Zeta-Jones.”

“Uh-huh.” She grins, dimples pooling in her cheeks, “Are you going to wash off that finger paint, or do I have to share a bed with a tiger-slash-dragon?”

Per usual, the duo showers together. Felicity’s teeth dig in her bottom lip when Oliver dries her torso with a large fluffy red towel. She bites her lip so fracking hard, Oliver fears she’ll draw blood.

“Ooh, sorry. Are those super sensitive?”

His wife rolls her eyes because he knows they are. Oliver knows exactly what he’s doing. His exhaustion is all but forgotten. Felicity draws him with those baby blues of hers.

“Gently, but don’t stop.”

They retire to their adjoining bedroom. Beard burn litters her skin, and Felicity is a writhing mess of pure want. But as Oliver applies an ample amount of lubricant to a couple digits Felicity’s breathing evens out. He’s not mad in the slightest. Tiredness is bound to happen, especially when moms are near their third trimester.

“I feel great.” He repeats, chuckling as his lips brush over hers briefly, “So beautiful.”

Felicity sleeps like a rock when he dresses her in his black t-shirt and warm thermal socks with an extra blanket. Granted, his hard-on is uncomfortable, although his desires quell when he slips into bed with the woman he loves.

The brunette hacker stirs awake when she realizes the Sandman dropped by for an early visit. Her heart races, pounding against her ribs. Oliver presumes it’s the heat of the moment, but in actuality it’s that same goddam recurring nightmare she refuses to tell him about. Sex is a nice distraction from those annoying nightmare Felicity envisions every time she closes her eyes.

Their pace is glacier melting slow when Oliver eases in from behind. His large tanned hand envelopes her breast while the other dips down, fingertips massaging her clitoris as he shallowly thrusts in and out after they apply lubricant in all the right places. Kisses, even the slightest touch to her skins, and dirty talk are enough foreplay to get the show on the road.

“Oliver, you can...” She grits, breaths ebbing against his calloused palm. “It’s all right… Faster, please.”

Ever since a recent spotting incident post-coitus, Oliver treats his wife like porcelain. However, after an emergency call in the middle of the night to Dr. Schwartz, they understand how spotting is fairly common at this stage in the pregnancy. So long as it’s minimal. Also, if she doesn’t feel cramps, labor pains, and keeps heavy weight off her abdomen, Felicity and Tommy will be in perfect health.

He sighs, breath tickling her neck before he nips at her pulse point, “Here.”

Felicity shudders against him, torso spasming . It’s challenging to describe sex during paralysis and pregnancy when Oliver is curious about what she felt when they made love tonight. Yes, orgasms unfortunately no longer occur. But it’s still fun, exciting, and deepens the emotional/physical connection they have to one another — sensory overload throughout her whole body. Sparks of pleasure ignite her nerves. Her neck becomes acutely sensitive in the best way. Her skin flushes to a bright pink, and her body temperature rises when he empties into her. His skin sticks to hers. Oliver’s careful, putting his weight on the pillows as an arm bands in the nether region between her breasts and belly.

“Mmm.” His wife moans, “Thank you.”

Her husband’s abs ripple against her scarred back, emitting a hearty laugh.

“Since when is that our thing?”

“Oh, oh, not you, my love. I almost smacked you upside the head for making me wait so damn long. The baby stayed asleep the entire time.”

“Well, we wouldn’t want him to hear all the naughty things I was doing to Mommy.”

Soft kisses along her spine keep Felicity awake. Oliver fetches a wet rag, cleaning between his wife’s legs. She playfully scratches his back in gratitude, making him purr akin to a big jungle cat. The off-duty tech mogul is coherent enough to twist her body, so they can insert the tubes to her catheter. Oliver marvels at the sight of his wife — sated, sinful, peaceful, and stunning all in one amazing woman as if it’s their first time.

“Oliver, are you getting into bed yet, or are you just going to continue staring?”

“Okay, okay.”

The mattress dips under his weight. He readjusts her body pillow, so they can cuddle. Slow lovemaking is a perfect distraction until Felicity closes her eyes. She hates mysteries and Felicity is desperate for answers.

The next night, a weekend no less, Ricardo Drago steps out of the shadows, murdering a copycat archer down by the docks on Bayview Drive. Felicity holds the fort down in the bunker, watching over the team and running comms. She hears her husband and Drago’s fight, blow for blow — punches, kicks, and grunts. Upon the sight of an unsheathed sword, Felicity’s eyes widen.

“Black Canary, Green Arrow needs backup now. He’s got one arrow left.” Overwatch reports, zooming in on the scene thanks to a storage unit security camera.

With voice modulator, he orders, “Stand down, Black Canary. Overwatch, I’ve got him.”

“The hell you do.” Overwatch snaps, fingertips scurrying across a keyboard at lightning speed as she takes control of a forklift. The longbow hunters are the first catch tonight. “Wild Dog, cover fire if they try to escape. Black Canary, sing for me with that pretty little voice of yours.”

Wild Dog cocks his automatic rifle, “Go help the boss man, D. I can handle these idiots."

“On it. Oh, and don’t pop a cap in their asses.”

“No promises, amore.”

Green Arrow nocks his last piece of ammo as Drago’s sword slices through the Emerald Archer’s Kevlar. Dinah releases a canary cry, powerful sonic waves pulsing through chilly air. Blood drips from Oliver’s arm as he hastily covers his ears. Drago gets blasted into the freezing waters of Starling Bay.

“Damn it!” Oliver growls.

“Shit, no sign of him, Hoss?”

Oliver glares at him through the mask.

“We’ll get him next time, big guy.” Black Canary offers weakly, hand clapping his back. “We won’t let him hurt anyone else.”

“Tell that to Dig or Bonnie King!”

Felicity’s voice crackles over comms, warning. “Oliver.”

“Stop. We need to have a talk when I get back to the bunker.

Green Arrow zips through Star City on his Ducati, making it back to the lair before the recruits. He tugs off his mask, shoving down his hood. The hero remains stoic and eerily quiet as he bounds the ramp to Overwatch’s workstation.

“Ooh, silent Oliver is a lot worse than yelling Oliver. You are not the boss of anybody in this bunker. We are a team, and before you say,” she mimics his deep voice, “‘I had him, Felicity. I had a plan.’”

“Well, I…”

“No. If you think I’m about to watch my partner, the father of my child, and my stubborn idiotic husband be gutted like a fish, you’ve lost your goddamn mind. So if you want to yell at me, go ‘head because I know in my bones...”

He cuts her off with a languid, lingering kiss on the mouth — one which makes her limbs feel like goo.

“Hm,” She blinks, drifting back from a blissful daze, “That was a nice way to shush me, but I’m still pissed at you.”

“I know.” Her husband smirks, a smile reaching his eyes. Though it quickly sours. “Bonnie King, only sixteen, a sophomore at Starling High, is dead because of…”

“Drago.” His wife finishes, knowing exactly what he’s thinking, “Not because she was trying to be like you.”

“And Dig is locked up in mental hospital because…”

“He has some major issues to fix, ones that we can’t help him with.”

“You’re right.” He admits with no hesitation.

Fanning herself, Felicity feigns a gasp, “That may be the sexiest thing you’ve ever said to me, say it again.”

“Say what?”

Her face scrunches, wheeling over to the medbay, “Come on. I’ll patch you up.”

“Ow!” He yelps as his wife sutures the wound.

“Did that hurt?”

Oliver hisses, “Yes.”

“Good.” Felicity quips, “That’s what you get for trying to lone ranger it again.”

“Still here.” Her husband promises, brushing his nose against hers as Felicity is done, “And these arms can still hold you, even when you’re scared at night and don’t tell me about it.”

Oliver holds Felicity close, lifting her into his lap.

“How did you..?”

“Baby, come on. We’re married. We sleep in the same bed every night. Did you really think I wouldn’t notice?”

“It’s not because I don’t want to talk you about it."

As if Oliver is reading her thoughts, he surmises, “You want to talk to your mom first.”

“Mm-hm. I can't blurt out ‘why didn’t you tell me I was adopted?’”

Oliver understands, yet doesn’t know what he can do to help. They settle in the medbay, Felicity stretches her back, working out a kink in those sore muscles.

Oliver rubs his hands together, “Could you…?”

“Oh, right.” Felicity replies, tugging down the bodice of her wine red dress.  
  
Oliver kneads over those huge knots, “I gotcha, Honey. You're so tight.”  
  
The elevator dings with Black Canary, Wild Dog, and Curtis in civies, holding his daughter Keisha. Chatter muddles, wondering if Mom and Dad are going two rounds. That fight over comms was intense.  
  
Felicity moans, nodding in approval, “Yeah, yeah, yeah... Little lower... Oh, God!”  
  
Curtis facepalms, covering his daughter’s ears.  “Aw, jeez.”  
  
“Pass me my goddaughter, man.” Dinah whispers, pulling away the boys.  
  
Yo, D. This just got interesting.” Rene wishes he had some popcorn.

The doors slide shut.

His forehead resembles a washboard, “Did they just…?”

“Uh-huh. So what are we going to do about it?”

“Oh. Don’t worry.” Oliver swears, stroking his stubble, “They’re in for it tomorrow.”

“Nice.” She high-fives her man, “But be cool with Di. She’s driving me to my - Donna’s - tomorrow afternoon.”

“Felicity, Honey, she’s still your mom. You and I both know, blood doesn’t make you family.”

“They lied to me my entire life. I need to know why for own peace of mind, what the Hell I was born into.”

“I understand, and I’ll be right there if you need me.”

The following day, Dinah’s blue Nissan parks outside a tall brown apartment complex. Felicity feels a wave of nausea creep up on her. She lurches forward. Her friend swiftly grabs a barf bag, holding her wavy locks back with quick reflexes.

“You sure you don’t want me to come with, girl? You know for moral support?”

“I’ve got to do this one on my own, Di.”

“All right. I’ll be waiting.”

Lou leads Felicity along a narrow corridor. If it isn’t for her trusted, furry buddy, the brunette hacker isn’t sure she would’ve had the guts to go this far. He woofs as they reach their destination, standing on his hind paws to ring the doorbell.

“Thanks, boy.” His master appreciates, incessantly rubbing the lab’s back. She doesn’t know if it’s for her or to calm herself down. Probably both. Sighing, she hypes, “I can do this. I can do this. I can so totally do this.”

Donna unbolts the locks, door creaking open. Here we go.

“Felicity, boo bear, I wasn’t expecting a visit ‘til Sunday. Come in. I was getting ready for work. What’s wrong?”

Barely through the doorway, Felicity blurts, “When were you planning on telling me I was adopted?”

Her perfume bottle crashes to the ground like a missile heading straight for its target. An overly pungent floral scent wafts throughout the room. They move around it.

Scrubbing her face, Donna gestures for Felicity to park her chair by the ottoman, “Your father warned me this day would come eventually.”

“Oh, really?”  Felicity laughs bitterly, “Which one?”

Tucking blonde locks behind her ear, Donna confesses, “Both of them. Ask me anything.”

“When?” She deadpans, looking her square in the eye, “Why?”

* * *

_**Twenty-Nine Years Ago** _

A woman walks out of a bar on the outskirts of The Strip. Donna Smoak, drops her boss’ keys on the sidewalk.It sounds crazy, although she hears a cooing baby.

“Hey?! Who’s there?”

Nothing, but a shoe scuffle in an adjacent alleyway.

“Listen, Buster, I take self defense classes, so you’ll be sorry.”

Donna grabs her sky high stilettos, wielding one knock-off designer heel like a night stick.

“D, it’s me.”

Squinting as her friend steps under a lit lamp post. His crisp white shirt and warm trench coat are covered in blood.

“Eddie? Oh my goodness, you’re hurt. We have to get you to a hospital.”

“It’s not mine.” Tears stream down his cheeks, “Carrie’s gone. She died, protecting Becca. Noah will know what to do.”

Of course, Noah Kuttler knows how to hack the F.B.I without a trace to lead back to him. Carrie predicted her fate at the hands of Ruve Darhk. The family had been alive for centuries. Rebekah Claire Raymond was no more than a cover up. Eddie’s gut wrenches because he never figured today would be the moment he would be losing his family right before his eyes.

“I still don’t get why you can’t take care of her.”

His body jostles, heavy with emotion, “Carrie was right. If the Darhks ever found about her or us, she wouldn’t be safe. That’s no kind of life for my baby. Just please take care of her. I love so much, Baby. I do. Okay?” Eddie insists as the infant pulls at his salt and pepper hair. “Protect her with your lives.”

“You have my word, old friend.” Noah obliges with a handshake.

Eddie couldn’t look back at his little girl, much Donna and Noah in Felicity’s recurring night terrors.

He leaves with single note written on a crumpled napkin:

_One day she’ll have questions about why things had to be this way, and hopefully when that time comes, the world will be safe from Damien and Ruve Darhk. My darling little, Rebekah, please know how much Mama and I love you. I can’t lose you too. You’ll be fine with Aunt Donna and Uncle Noah. It’s better they raise you instead of me. It’s best for everyone if you’re known to the world as Felicity Megan Smoak. You’ll have a lot of questions one day, and when you’re ready, we’ll answer everything. You, my dear, are destined for great things, and a life on the run will not help your future. Know that I think of you always, my sweet girl._

_Love forever,_

_Your Father (Edward Robert Raymond)_

* * *

_**Present Day** _

Staring out a window, Donna recounts, “You were barely five months old. I-I…”

“You what?!”

She blubbers, “Your father and I couldn’t have kids of our own.”

Hand on her hip, Felicity snipes, “So you two thought going along with this lie for nearly thirty years was okay? You never once thought to tell me ‘Hey, kid. You’re adopted’ at the very least by my eighteenth birthday?”

“But you’ve always been my baby girl. I protected you. I raised you. I took care of you, and the most important thing you should know is I love you so much.”

“Fuck, you practically left me to fend for myself while you were at the bar every night. You lied to my entire life — not only about my adoption, how we left Noah, your job when I was little. If you really loved me, Donna, you would never lie to me.”

Reaching for her, Donna pleads, “Sweetheart, please…”

“I can’t deal with this right now.” Felicity says, making a sharp turn with her wheelchair before she grabs her service dog’s leash, “Come boy, let’s go.”

The return to Oliver and Felicity’s home is tough. Dinah waits until they slip away from the prying lens of paparazzi before she parks under a shady tree.

Her friend croaks, forcing a tense smile, “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not, Felicity. Look, I know I’m great with girl stuff, but we can talk if you want.”

Dinah notices how Felicity’s lip quivers, holding it in. She pulls her friend into a tight embrace. Hot, salty tears and snot stain the detective’s denim vest.

“I hate everything.”

Felicity hasn’t sobbed like this since the major Space Camp disappointment of ‘96.

Fingers tangle in her reddish brown tresses, Dinah whispers, “Oh! I’ve got you.”

She recalls a song Zoe loves.

Di sings softly in her ear:

_Moonbeams and starlight, magical twilight_

_The warmest ray, hear it whispering your names_

_Rainbows at midnight, sparkling night skies_

_Don't go away, stay another day._

Tears turn into laughter.

Felicity sniffles, wiping her eyes, “Is that from _Rio 2_?”

“Was it weird? That usually works with Zoe.”

“Yes, but it’s oddly calming.”

“Good. Let’s get you back home, mama.”

Dinah and Felicity spend the rest of the morning for a little girl time — boxing, yoga, and mundane mountain of paperwork before they walk their dogs, Lou and Bea after lunch. The ladies discuss more, and Di reveals her much younger brother Kurt is adopted. Day dips into night, painting the sky in vibrant colors.

“Oliver’s going to kill me. Your knuckles are all bruised.”

Making a fist, Felicity examines her slightly irritated pink skin, “Ah, it was my idea to punch the heavy bag without gloves. You’ll be fine. Besides, don’t tell the boys, but you’re our favorite.”

“Aw, thanks, Ma.” Dinah chuckles, smooching her temple.

The mother-to-be sighs, “If I only I wasn’t pregnant right now, I could use some wine.”

“Hm, how ‘bout a bowl of ice cream instead?”

Total cliche, but it works.

Felicity swaps her workout gear for a comfy mint green cardigan and stretchy floral printed yoga pants. Oliver returns to their abode after being tied up at City Hall all day.

“Hey, Baby.” Her husband greets, hands shoved into his pockets, “I’m so sorry I couldn’t be there today. I’m going to make your favorite pasta. We’ll take a hot shower, and watch whatever you want.”

“Uh-huh, keep going.”

“Um…” Dinah announces, rubbing the back of her neck, “That sounds like my cue to leave.”

Directing her friend to the sectional, the brunette hacker insists, “You stay.”

Oliver observes his wife’s face. Her nose is red and her eyes are still a bit puffy.

“Are you okay?” He cups her face.

“I’m okay as I can be.” Felicity mentions, his stubble prickling her palms, “Di’s got my back.”

Oliver mouths, “Thank you.”

Dinah exits, leaving the couple be. They have a lot to talk about, and the reveal of her birth parents is only a beginning of Felicity Queen’s true origin story.


	15. Jitters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt 15:** Choose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is shorter than usual, and didn't turn out how I expected. I had strep throat last week, and when I finally had time to write, my Wi-Fi was being mean and spotty. So if it's a little lack luster, you know why. I still wanted to get something out for y'all to read/ We get a quick scene with Eddie and more. Regardless of all that, I hope you enjoy it.

Felicity tugs on the V-neck of her dress. Wrong time for her Range Rover to break down, but thanks to Jax, the hand brake should be a quick and easy fix. The transmission, well, fingers and everything. She has a bun in the oven, so to speak. Through, Felicity literally feels like an oven. The sun bears down on everyone during this unseasonably scorching autumn.

The bus comes to a stop at The Grind — a small coffee shop in Star City. No one knows where she is. Not even Oliver or her assistant Gerry. She gulps, nerves ballooning in her throat.

“You okay, Mrs. Q?” Her driver Vic asks, undoing the tie downs on her chair. Her heart drums against her ribs upon hearing the typical ratchet and snap when her wheelchair is free to move.

“I’m good, man. How much do I owe you? $4.75?”

“Ah for you, Felicity. It’s free day. I’ll be heading back this way on my route, so I’ll pick you up an hour or so.”

“Okay. say hi to Estelle and Dani for me.”

Her eyes fall shut. She can’t believe she’s actually doing this, but it’s happening. Felicity is about to meet her biological father. All it takes is one delivery of a pink peony bouquet with a note:

_“Donna said she told you. You must have a lot of questions, kiddo. Look, I know I’ll never be your dad, but I was hoping we could meet. I’m back from Gotham on Wednesday. My number is (206) 555-0869. I’ll pick the time, you pick the place. Your mother always loved peonies by the way._

_See you soon,_

_Eddie Raymond._

The lift lowers her down to the sidewalk. Hot rims touch cement. Vic bids his client goodbye, and Felicity’s eyes fall shut as he drives off on his afternoon route. Three slow deep breathes don’t do much to calm Tommy down either. It’s as if their little guy can sense his mother’s jitters.

Her teeth clamp down on a wide strap of her purse. Teenage boys laugh at the sight, commenting about Felicity under the breath. Clearly, they need a lesson in sensitivity, but then again, there’s still time to learn: Wheelchair bound people need their hands free constantly.

The doorbell dings as she rolls inside. Felicity scours the small coffee and spots a man in a white shirt. His fingers brush through white hair before he takes a swig of his drink. She approaches closer and closer. A wave of nausea hits her, and now is so not a good time. The strap is moist when she releases from her mouth. Felicity reaches, hand trembling as she taps him on the shoulder.

“Eddie?”

Lines around his eyes crinkle as he smiles, “Felicity? I didn’t think you’d show.”

She huffs, “Well, I’m here, aren’t I.”

“I’m glad,” he nods.

They sit at a tiny round table built for two. Felicity orders a frozen hot chocolate while Edward partakes in a pumpkin scone.

After a spoonful of her chocolate treat, his daughter starts, “I have one question for you, why now?”

“I honestly didn’t think it would take this long, but I had Noah keep tabs on you. And I talk with your mother constantly.”

That’s a real slap in the face. Not only had Donna lied to her, but they’ve both been hiding this massive secret together for nearly thirty years.

“My biological mother, what was she like?”

“Carrie.” He offers with a watery chuckle, lips tilting up at a fond memory, “Carrie was a true spitfire. Ronald’s mother Elaine didn’t deserve all the pain I put her through, but we were both leading double lives. I had two families, and she was in special ops for the FBI.”

“Was… So who?”

He cuts in, “Ruve Darhk, but thanks to the guy in the Robin Hood getup, your husband…”

“Woah, woah.” Her eyes widen, hand draping protectively over her belly, “How did you know?”

“Sweetheart...” Her father smirks, "You know I have to say it's a bit strange seeing your baby girl have her own baby."

Felicity snaps, “Let’s make one thing clear. I’m not your anything yet. First name only.”

“Fair enough. In answer to your question Noah does his homework.”  Her father appeases.

Her brows furrow, “So why did you really want to meet with me today?”

“It finally seemed like the right time.”

“And…?” She intones expectantly.

“And since Ronald passed, I need to know my daughter. I have a loft in Gotham — ramps, elevators, and everything - the whole nine yards. Plus, I have a business partner Bruce. I’d really like you to meet him soon. Think of it, Raymond Industries, Queen Incorporated, and Wayne Enterprises working alongside one another.”

Tears blur her vision, “So a business deal? That… That’s all this was to you?”

“Felicity, no. it was just a suggestion. I choose us over everything else, and I want to get to know, you and your family.”

“For money!” She shouts, startling customers, “Check? Can someone give me a damn check?”

“Um, ma’am you paid at the register.”

“Sweetie, wait!”

Felicity wheels outside faster than Wally when he accidentally took a leak in a girls’ locker room. She bumps into a friend with a black apron.

“Felicity?”

“Ror-Rory?” The brunette hacker sputters, “What are you doing here?”

“I work here. Well, part time. My sculptures haven’t been selling in Israel, so I thought I’d come back stateside. Something’s wrong.”

“No shit, Sherlock. But I can’t talk about it. Not here.”

Squatting down to his friend’s level, he wonders, “What can I do?”

“Take me home.”

After a quick bus cancellation and frantic call to Oliver, the duo arrives to the Queen family home. Felicity’s huddled in blankets at the window seat.

“Is she going to be okay, Oliver?”

“Yeah.” His former mentor sighs heavily, knees creaking as he joins her in the living room.

She tells Oliver about what is now only known as “the incident”. Days drag on, and Felicity pushes it way deep down as if never happened. She just wants to forget ever knowing the fact that she is adopted, and they resume their normal lives. It’s where Felicity and Oliver thrive. Well, most times, provided there isn’t another attack on the city. A smoothie, fresh air, her boys, and her dog, Right now, it’s absolutely perfect.

Oliver commands, “Lou, sit!”

The black Labrador refuses to do so, sopping wet with suds in a kiddie pool as he’s much more entertained by a butterfly. His eyes dart every which way as he follows the little orange fluttering creature until it lands on his cold wet nose.

“Lou, sit.”

Felicity looks up from a gossip rag with giggles  as her service dog practically smiles at his new tiny insect friend.

“Baby, your dog has a serious listening problem.”

Flipping up her red-rimmed shades, his wife notes, “Why is he only _my_ dog when he’s not taking orders from you, Honey?”

“You think you’re real cute, don’t you?” He chuckles, trapping Lou in the small round pool with his leg.

“I have faith in you, Honey. C’mon you can’t bathe one dog?” The brunette hacker chants, applauding, “Hercules, Hercules, Hercules!”

Oliver grunts as he attempts to push the mutt’s hind quarters into the water. Still, the stubborn animal won’t budge.

“Felicity.”

Ugh, drawing out every single syllable of her name — the nerve of him. Though. it rolls off his tongue like melted chocolate.

“Okay, okay. Lou, enough making Daddy Mr. Grumpy Swim Trunks.” Felicity orders with a snap of her fingers. “Sit, boy.”

Lou finally plops his henie into the soapy water. Oliver rinses him off with the hose.

“Thanks, Buddy.”

“Come, dude. Mama’s going to get you all nice and dry.”

Felicity reaches for a blue bone printed towel. The dog approaches her, only to shake himself dry.

“No, no, no! I trusted you, Lou.” Felicity points out, wiping droplets off with her magazine, “Why you gotta be like that, dog?”

He pants with a near grin of innocence.

“Ha!” Her husband snort-laughs, “He gotcha. C’mon. Let’s go inside.

Felicity pulls over her wheelchair, and instinctively. Oliver lifts her gently onto the seat. She slips into a diaphanous coverup over her electric blue bikini top before they settle into the kitchen. The adjacent living room rouses with blips and cheers when William lounges on the couch in his socks and racecar printed shorts.

“Go, Luigi, go!” William yells at the TV, holding down a button.

However, Princess Peach bests her friend.

He frowns, “Dang it.”

“There you are, Will.” His stepmother suggests, “It’s a beautiful day. Why don’t you go outside? And I don’t mean to play Pokemon Go.”

“It’s too hot.”

“Some fresh air will do you good, son.”

“But dad...”

“No buts, you’ve been playing that game for over an hour now.”

“Fine.” He groans, rolling his eyes. “I’ll be at the tire swing

Will trudges out, grabbing his flip flops.

Felicity reminds, wheels squeaking against the tile as she moves in between the door and him “Ah, ah, what are we forgetting?”

William shrugs with that frown plastered on his face. Oliver hands Felicity her tote bag, and she digs through it to find a bottle of sunblock.

“Really?”

His parents confirm simultaneously, popping the p, “Yep.”

Oliver sprays Will’s front and back while Felicity switches to the cream sunblock, smearing some on his cheeks and nose. The teen grumbles to himself. Oliver and Felicity’s lips tick up in soft smirks at their tiny parenting win. To some, times like these may seem mundane. But Oliver’s never been more at peace when he’s home with his family. Felicity, on the other hand, has a lot on her plate. She’s in the home stretch of pregnancy, and by December, their little boy will be there. She’s talked about her biological parents a few times since that confrontation with Donna, but for the past few days, it fell away. She gnaws on a carrot dipped in sunbutter while he her husband pours oliver into a chickpea mixture. The food processor whirs, melding each ingredient. He pulses it a few more times.

Dipping a tasting spoon into the hummus, Oliver inquires, “What do you think?”

She stuffs the dip onto one side of her mouth, only for to fall open with a gasp.

“So too much salt and pepper?”

“No, no. Not that. Come here and take a look at this.”

His brows furrow, “That tabloid trash. What are they saying about us now?”

“Star City’s Royal Couple reserves their own private suite at hospital before the little prince is due.”

It goes on to discuss their spending habits

“We did not. We have a scheduled C-Section.” His wife huffed. “I wish people would stop making up these lies about us. We’re not boughy like that, and the only reason we travel via private jets because someone has to check a case of his arrows.”

“Or your Smoak Watch. Babe, it’s like a modern Swiss Army knife. And is that a yes on the over-seasoned hummus?”

She waves off, “It’s fine, Mr. Master Chef. You know there’s nothing wrong with storebought hummus.”

“Bite your tongue.” Oliver gasps, hand clutching his heat. He cracks some fresh ground pepper, “How ‘bout now?”

With a cheek full of pita and hummus, she approves, “Better.”

“You know when you said something about the tabloids. I thought they found about the you-know.”

“I made a little call to Lyla and Sue. No way that’s getting out, and before you ask, I don’t need to talk about it. Meeting Eddie was a mistake. It’s over. It’s done with, and I’m fine.”

“Honey…”

“Oliver, please. It’s my life. It’s my choice. You, William, Lou, and Tommy are all I’ll ever need.”

“Right, but if you ever do want to talk.”

“You’re here.” She finishes, “I know. I know. I’m perfectly fine.”

His lips purse.

His wife amends, exhaling, “I’m going to be perfectly fine.”

Oliver whips a couple pita sandwiches while his wife slurps down the last sip of her mango smoothie. They eat in what her husband presumes is a comfortable silence, although Felicity has a lot on her mind. Honestly, following that afternoon at the Grind. Felicity doesn’t what to make of it. She has to know, and Eddie isn’t much help. It’s this schism inside of her. Part of her wants to know what life would’ve been like as Rebekah Raymond — a part of her that seems missing or lost. But what Felicity has now, she wouldn’t trade for anything in the world.


	16. My Name is Felicity Queen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt 16:** Malfunction

( _Originally via 520 "Underneath"_ )

“Gideon, what’s left on my agenda tonight?”

A blue lit rimmed holographic screen opens in mid-air. A keyboard soon follows under it. If Curtis only knew about the massive upgrade Felicity invented for the SQ PC, he’d be like Oliver in the kitchen appliance aisle at Target. Windows reflect off her glasses as she scours through daily e-mails.

The AI assistant reports, “I believe it’s time to check on Ms. Tomaz’s schematics for the T-Steering ma’am, and then…”

“Dinner in with your husband,” Oliver announces, clutching a paper bag.

She gasps, and Tommy swiftly takes a shot to the side of her stomach.

“You jerk,” The CEO hisses, jabbing his bicep. “you scared Tommy and me."

“Ow! Sorry, sorry. I thought you’d hear the elevator ding or paper bag rustle when I walked into your office.”

“Well, I didn’t.”

“Clearly,” her man replies, looking at Felicity with big blue innocent puppy eyes. “Eat while we work?”

She sniffs, “Ah, are those tacos from Ortega’s food truck I smell?”

“Yes. Unless you and Bubba are craving something different. I can jump on my bike and pick up some Japanese food from Shimu’s.”

“Hmm… Did you get my favorite beef tacos?”

His face splits in a big grin. “Of course with extra guac and pico de gallo.”

“Well, then I suppose I can forgive you, Mr. Mayor.”

“Why thank you, Mrs. Queen."  Oliver says, adopting an English accent. “Where’s my kiss, Babe?”

With a finger wag, she directs, “C’mere.”

Her husband whispers in a soft intimate tone reserved only for Felicity, “Hey.”

His left knee certainly isn’t happy with him as Oliver squats down to her level — evident by the loud creak. Years of Parkour jumping off roofs will take their toll on anyone, but smooches with his beautiful wife are totally worth it. Oliver leans in with a huge smile plastered on his face. She meets him halfway, despite the twinge in her lower back. Felicity grips the lapel of his favorite pea coat, bringing her husband closer. Their mouths meld in a chaste smooch; one which grows deeper as they breathe each other in. Her supple palms contrast his prickly stubble, thumbs pooling in his dimples as he chases her lips. He squeezes her brakes tighter, though Felicity has no intention of moving yet. She eventually pulls back before things get too heated, brushing her nose against his.

“Hiya, stranger.”

Lines crinkle around his eyes. He tucks a dark wavy strand behind her ear, fingertips tracing his wife’s industrial piercing. They sit, eat, and work. Felicity jots down her meeting with Walter on the fifteen for their usual QI mid-month financial check-in at that exact date and time in her day planner. Oliver slips on his reading glasses, overseeing multiple plans for a Tiny Homes Initiative in the Glades. Warm crunchy tortilla chips and an umptious mini taco platter are much needed after an insanely long day. Though, they continue on with their business. A telltale crinkle marrs between the tech mogul’s brows, and concern flits over her husband’s face.

“Something wrong, Hon?”

“Nothing’s…”

“Let me rephrase that, I know something’s bugging you, so talk to me, Felicity.”

“Oliver, everything’s — ”

Her quick lip quiver is subtle, although the tears welling in Felicity’s eyes are a dead giveaway.

Cupping his wife’s cheek, the mayor announces, “Gideon, would you mind doing me a favor?”

“How may I be at your service, Mr. Queen?”

“My love.” Felicity grits tensely, reminding, “You can’t just…”

“Oh, I can and I will.” He swears, commanding, “Gideon, engage Protocol 1217 and please delete an e-mail Mrs. Queen received from a Mr. Edward Raymond.”

“Oliver Jonas Queen, I make my own decisions, dammit. Gideon, override Protocol 1217.”

“Red lightsaber.” Oliver cuts in before the AI assistant listens to her creator.

Shit! Felicity honestly didn’t think her husband paid that much attention when she excitedly discussed tech related tidbits at work. Granted, Oliver would normally never invade his wife’s privacy like this. But that wretched message breaks her heart every single time she looks at it. Eddie sent a nasty e-mail after their first and only meeting at The Grind last week.

Felicity remembers the message word for word. It’s burned into her brain.

_Rebekah, (not Felicity)_

_The ball’s in your court. Now that the Darhks are gone permanently. We can do so many great things together as a team. You’ll have more than enough money for your child’s college fund. I know you must still have so many questions. To be honest, I didn’t know anything about raising a genius little girl like you, and I definitely don’t know how to handle your disability. You were always better off with Uncle Noah and Aunt Donna. I want to be a part of your life, Sweetheart. Have it in your heart and be a good daughter. I swear to you, we’ll figure this out._

_The rest is up to you,_

_Eddie_

Oliver found his wife later that evening in their home office. Papers were strewn about the floor. Her signature ponytail was out of place, and Felicity’s shoulders jostled with sad and angry sobs. She took in desperate bids for air, mumbling curse words and wondering what was so wrong with her. He pulled her into his lap, holding onto her tight. Oliver repeatedly muttered “I love you” along with sweet nothings, letting her cry it out because it was what she needed. Similar to right now in this very moment by deleting that exact same e-mail, Oliver will always do whatever it takes to protect Felicity.

“You couldn't let me sit and mull?” She grumbles, incessantly fiddling with the tie at the waist of her purple dress.

“No. It’s not healthy for you or the baby. Hon, you know that.”

Pinching the bridge of her nose, Felicity implores, “Do you know why I wanted to keep that stupid message from my sperm donor?"

“Because he’s a jackass and you never wanted to forget that side of your biological dad?”

Felicity’s azure eyes widen on that note. Okay, so he does understand. Lucky, guess.

“It wasn’t luck, Felicity. I know you, every part of you inside and out. I know how you think, how you prioritize other people’s problems above your own, and how guarded your heart still is, especially when an idiot worms his way through it.”

“Huh? Maybe I should get some heartache pesticide from Home Department.”

He sighs, reaching for her hand. Her gaze flickers down on the desk, not taking it yet.

“You don’t have to be funny for me. You know that, right?”

She intertwines their fingers.

“I know. It’s just…” Felicity exhales, licking her lips, “I can’t believe a part of me wanted to get to know that asshat, and I come from him plus a mother I’ll never get the chance to know.”

“Yes, unfortunately, you two share half your DNA. But if these last six years are any indication, you are a very different person than him. For one, you treat your employees like friends and family. You could care less about money, and would much rather help people because it’s what we do.”

“Is something wrong with me? Because all I ever wanted was for Eddie to be different."

“Not like Noah, you mean? You were hoping to have the kind of parent you always wanted — the kind of parent you deserve. You and I have parents who won’t win any awards for being mother and father of the year. But I know two things; one is I love you.”

The brunette hacker inquires, eyebrows raising, “And the second thing?”

“So does Donna. I’m not saying right this second, but I think when you’re ready, you two should talk.”

“I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but you’re right, Oliver.”

“Thank you.” He mutters under his breath with a smirk, speaking aloud, “I’m sorry for going over your head on this one, but that stupid e-mail was only hurting you. Felicity, you don’t need Eddie. I understand you’re the one who decides if you need protection, but I hate seeing you in pain. And I’ll always be there by your side even when we don’t agree on things.”

“At least there’s one man I can rely on.”

Caressing her knuckles, Oliver promises, “Always.”

Felicity blots her smudged mascara, and they resume their work. At this rate, the power couple will be burning the midnight oil. But someone has to get every little thing done. She examines Zari’s revised steering wheel schematics, muttering to herself as she scrawls calculations and follow up questions in the margins. Oliver dots his i's, signing off on a volunteer project at a children’s park a few blocks down from Starling General. The digital clock changes to eleven, and Felicity slips into her army green jacket.

“How much longer, love?” His wife questions, arching her back away from the gel padded back cushion.

“Five minutes.” The off-duty Emerald Archer informs, holding up his hand for emphasis, “Did Charlotte change your catheter this afternoon?”

“Mm-hm. I already feel my body clock setting itself for one A.M., so we won’t have to worry about it ‘til later. Thankfully, little mister Thomas Robert wasn’t using my bladder like a heavy bag today.”

“Good.”

His nose is buried in blue folders and paperwork. Felicity scrolls the calendar on her phone, double checking every upcoming appointment. Her husband forehead resembles an old school washboard, yet there’s just something about him. The desk lamp accentuates the distinguishing bits of gray in his goatee, the bright blue in his eyes, those sexy glasses, which look insanely hotter than their friend Clark’s. The rolled up sleeves expose his strong arms, and Felicity bites her lip, lipstick staining her pearly whites at their mere thought of undoing his loosened burgundy tie. The belt clicks as Felicity rolls up behind him. Her hands wrinkle his sky blue button up as she kneads over the knotty muscle.

Dipping into a sultry tone, Felicity’s breath ghosts into his ear, “Anything else I can do to help, Mr. Mayor?”

“Huh? Shouldn’t I be asking my very beautiful, very pregnant wife that same question? ” He plays along, melting into her touch, “I’ll return the favor as soon as we get home.”

“You’d better.”

His eyes slip shut, head lolling back as he stuffs the last document in a blue folder with the Star City seal.

His wife coaxes - her tone certainly can’t be misconstrued, “You want to take care of one last thing before we go home?"

“Felicity, we’re both achey. You’re in your third trimester. Are you sure we can stil have sex?” Her husband reminds, seconds before she nibbles on his earlobe, “Oh, damn it, the ear thing.”

“I want you, or maybe the hormones want what they want. Besides now that we know Walter’s assistant Beth was behind the paparazzi leak, you and I won’t ever have to worry about an office bug again.”  His wife insists, peppering the side of his neck with wet kisses, “Besides I’d consider it, a reward after a fourteen hour work day, wouldn’t you?”

Oliver’s fingers tap against his hip.

“But what if I…?”

“Aw, Oliver, Honey.” Her face scrunches as she giggles, knowing exactly what he’s thinking. “You’re not going to hurt me or the baby with your…” Felicity clears her throat, “man parts just because I’m in my twenty-ninth week.”

“Okay, but what about…?”

She sighs heavily, “Dr. Rivera says spotting is normal, and as long as I’m not bleeding profusely with no labor pains, I’ll be fine.”

“Alright, but you tell me if you want something different.”

Felicity snickers, “Since when has that ever been a problem?”

He warns, “I’m serious, Honey.”

“Way to make a woman feel sexy, Queen.”

Regardless of the healthy twenty-three pounds she’s gained through the pregnancy thus far, Oliver hoists Felicity up onto the desk without so much as a grunt. She presses a button on the desk, frosting the floor-to-ceiling windows. Felicity also takes the liberty of purposefully shoving her husband’s paperwork off the desk.

“Aw, Babe. My papers.” Her husband groans, complaining, “Seriously? I just filed those.”

She shrugs, “Sorry, I always wanted to do that.”

In response, Oliver purposefully knocks over her Newton’s Cradle knickknack on the floor.

“So did I,” he winks.

With paralysis and the final stage of pregnancy, the duo can’t just go it at like animals in heat. The lights flicker as Gideon prepares for her scheduled system shut down.

The boss signals, “Use the force. Gideon, lights on please.”

“Certainly, ma’am.”

“Gideon, sleep mode.”

“Pleasant dreams, sir.”

“Oliver, we talked about this.”

“I know, Felicity, but you know AI robots taking over the world got in my head after we went to Kara and Clark’s Earth.”

“Fine.” His wife grumbles, “Chop, chop. Let’s get this show on the road.”

She removes his glasses. He does the same before his wife undoes that burgundy tie.

“Mm, so romantic, aren’t you?”

She laughs, hand on her hip, “What do you want me to say ‘Make love to me, Oliver please?" I’m not that kind of girl, but I want to be just us right here right now.”

“Fair enough.”

Oliver unzips her boots, kissing the soles of her feet once he yanks off her socks. A frown pulls at her lips because she can’t feel his tender touchers on her lower limbs. However, she enjoys watching him as he drinks her in — every single inch. Her legs are ice cold against his lips, but that certainly doesn’t deter him. He rucks the skirt of her dress up past her ass, revealing her plain nude maternity underwear.

She blushes, “Those don’t exactly scream sexy, but they're comfortable, dammit.”

“No, no. You look sexy in anything.”

“Liar.” His wife huffs, chucking her jacket on the floor, “You vowed never to lie to me again.”

“Not lying, but if you still don’t believe me, I guess I’ll have to show you, won’t I?”

“Now we’re taking.”

There’s no longer a need for words. Her fingers hastily work over each button, revealing rippling muscles and a body forged in scars. Her hands glide up his abs, resting on one particular patch of mangled skin, where his Bratva tattoo once remained. He kisses her knuckles - right over her rings - in gratitude. Oliver tugs the purple dress over her head, quickly unsnapping the mismatched black cotton bra. His stubble rasps at the column of her throat. Even under the unflattering glow of fluorescent lights, Felicity looks positively stunning in his eyes - no matter what. His teeth graze her pulse point. She emits a broken gasp, nails raking over uneven flesh.

He shudders against her skin, “Felicity.”

She kisses the crown of his head as he holds her tightly simply breathing her in — a mix of subtle floral perfume, unscented body wash, and simply _Felicity_. After a long moment in one another's arms, the pair pick up where they left off. Oliver’s mouth makes it descent, skimming the top of her left breast before he nearly reaches the nipple.

“Nope.” She heeds, holding his face, “Too sensitive.”

“I gotcha, Honey.”

Oliver doesn’t want to mess up her boss-fern, or their family photos. Those items thud softly against a leather chair as she rummages through a locked drawer to find a bottle of KY. He steps out his dress pants and boxers, bunching up his suit jacket like a pillow. Their mouths reconvene in a passionate frenzy, sneaking in some tongue.

“God, I love you.”

They apply ample dollops of lubricant in the right places. Her hand joins his, palming over Oliver’s increasing hard erection. He fights the urge to close his eyes, but her grip feels incredible. His breathing notches to erractic levels.

“Just call me Oliver.” He chuckles, voice laden with lust as he turns her over, bump cushioned with his jacket from the thankfully sturdy desk, “I want to try something.”

“Hold on.” His wife pants, giggling, “Our son isn’t happy with us.”

He’s kicking like crazy. Oliver kisses her nose in apology, and this definitely doesn’t go as he’s hoped, but any expectant parent know most things never do. Felicity pushes up onto her elbows. Per usual, her husband is right there to catch her. Oliver massages some KY gel onto Felicity’s ass just in case. He joins her on the desk, lifting the brunette hacker onto his lap. She’s isn’t aware of his cock rubbing heavily between her butt cheeks until Oliver eases in slowly from behind. Felicity moans, feeling a super-thin dull pressure; awareness which only sparks when Oliver is deep-seated inside her. One hand bands between her breast and belly, moving her body back against him. Oliver does all the work for once, and Felicity doesn’t mind one bit. He rubs her sore lower back muscles, kissing wherever he can reach. It’s gentle at first since Oliver is very mindful of her delicate spine and baby bump, though desires ratchet up to a whole other level. He plows into from behind, skin slapping against skin. The desk creaks underneath them.

“Shit… Baby. I can’t.” Her husband grunts, hoping to stave off his release. She clenches around tighter than usual. Those muscles clamp around his dick perfectly, “Fuck, Felicity, you feel amazing.”

“Kiss me.”

His lips find her neck, leaving a hickey in between there and her shoulder because that’s the only place he can reach at the moment. She whimpers at the feeling of his teeth nipping at her skin, his seeing his fingers dig into her hip, and his torso cushioning her scarred back. His own hips stutter when he spills into her with quick, hot spurts. It never feels the same for her anymore, but sometimes she just wants him — no matter how they do it. Felicity loves being surrounded by his warmth, love, and albeit a sheen of sweat. Oliver’s spent, nose pressing against the back of her head.

“Sor…”

“Oliver, we’ve been over this too. If you apologize after sex, I swear to God, I’ll be so pissed at you.”

“I love you.”

“That’s more like it. Besides, I wanted this.”

“Me too.”

They clean up, settling on the floor with a couple of spare throw blankets from a slim supply closet. Oliver drapes her legs over his, and she rests atop her husband. They both feel their son moving between them.

Felicity murmurs against his chest, “I  think you woke up the baby, man.”

“Don’t pin that one on me. You started it.” He recalls, carding his fingers through her curlier locks before Oliver's drapes over her shoulder scar.

She notes, “That’s more than I expected to get done when you dropped by my office for a dinner break.”

“I’d say I’m sorry, but I’m really not. That was…”

His wife finishes, “Wow.”

“Are you feeling any better after the incident?”

“Honey.” She yawns, “Do we have to talk about this now?”

“Tell me.”

His wife admits,  I don’t know I thought seeing my biological father  would give me some closure, but lately it’s difficult to feel like me. A lot’s changing, and I’m not sure who I’m supposed to be.”

“I know exactly who you are.”

“Besides your wife, William’s stepmom, and Tommy’s mother, I have to be a boss.”

“You’re so much more than that to me. My Felicity.” Oliver blushes.  “I mean, not that you’re something to possess... I’m trying to say...”

She giggles. “You’re so fracking cute when you’re nervous. Oliver.”

“Felicity, you’re amazing in so many different ways. I couldn’t do what I do with me. Since the island, I had walls up, and with your kindness, generosity, wit, and patience, you’re not my just better half. You’re my hero, my strength, and one of the the people I love most in the world. And you, Felicity Megan Queen, are a badass all on your own. Never forget that. Okay?”

The couple naps on the couch before heading home by midnight.

Next morning, heels clack against marble floors in her office.

“Thanks for coming to see us.”

“Us?” The woman looks puzzled, lips pursing.

She reveals her husband hiding behind a long gray curtain in his full super suit.

Complete with voice modulator on, the Green Arrow greets as if it’s nothing, “Hello, Raisa.”

Is this some kind of odd prank, a malfunction in the nanny website. Hell, is this even real? There’s no way, Raisa’s little Ollie Queen is....

“Zelenaya Strela,” The elder woman gasps.


	17. Silver + Gold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt 17:** Silver Lining.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the record, I typically diverge from show canon completely. A) Because I don't like philandering billionaire playboy Ollie Queen. My fic canon for Oliver and Samantha, they're Bruce Willis and Demi Moore -- friends and co-parents for their son. In Summer Vacation, Sam is Oliver's only college girlfriend or fiance for a brief period, who he's faithful to. No cheating or hate. Punching out paps and distance is what made them grow apart in the romance department.. They got pregnant in college. In this chapter, there's family picnic, where [characters redacted] come back in some form.

_**Previously on Summer Vacation** _

_Next morning, heels clack against marble floors in her office._

_“Thanks for coming to see us.”_

_“Us?” The woman looks puzzled, lips pursing._

_She reveals her husband hiding behind a long gray curtain in his full super suit._

_Complete with voice modulator on, the Green Arrow greets as if it’s nothing, “Hello, Raisa.”_

_Is this some kind of odd prank, a malfunction in the nanny website. Hell, is this even real? There’s no way, Raisa’s little Ollie Queen is...._

_“Zelenaya Strela (Green Arrow),” The elder woman gasps._

* * *

 Raisa stands stunned in silence. Her mouth is left agape. Felicity pulls out a chair and offers the former nanny an ice cold bottle of walk. After big gulps and staring at one of her favorite children for a long moment, the now much more mature woman gains the courage to speak.

“Oliver?” Her Russian/Hungarian accents lilt through the English

Her former charge nods without a word, though a wry smile lifts his lips. Relief washes over her, heartbeat slowing to a normal rate. She sets the bottle down on Felicity’s desk. The CEO rolls up to the head of her desk.

Clearing her throat, Felicity repeats, “Once again, thanks for coming to see us.”

“Do you and my little Ollie always dress up as kapiushon (hood) and…”

“Overwatch,” She fills in.

“I always knew you were destined for great things, sweet boy.” The older woman responds, pushing a hand under his hood. “You have such a good heart.”

His cheeks flush, which is a striking contrast to his dark black eye mask Barry gifted him years ago. The toe of the Emerald Archer’s boot brushes against his calf.

This certainly isn’t the interview they planned, but the day to day jobs sometimes overlap with hero work.

Felicity inquires, “You seriously didn’t know? I mean, the mask and hood barely cover his face, and that stubbly strong jaw line…”

“Honey.” He growls, “Now is not the time.”

“I had my suspicions, Mrs. Felicity.”

The truth is most people knew after a collective group of citizens helped the hero and his team take down Damien Darhk permanently. However, the city had taken a collective vow of silent thanks if and when the mayor becomes ready to reveal his secret identity. There was a pretty close call last year when a damn good FBI agent, Samanda Watson nearly forced Oliver Queen’s vigilante work out of the shadows. But with a lot of help from Dig, she was hot off Oliver’s tail for now.

“Did you just growl at me, mister?!”

For a man who’s six foot one, and a superhero, he recoils instantly at his wife’s loud voice. Something about it is frightening, yet kind of a turn-on.

“Sorry,” mutters the Green Arrow under his breath.

His wife intones, “Thank you.”

Raisa hides a giggle behind her palm, tucking gray wavy strands behind her ear.

“It is very good to see you, Raisa.” Oliver whispers. “I missed you.”

Felicity has seen this look a few times on her husband’s face. Despite his full Kevlar suit, that shy, but radiant smile resembles the boy who misses his parents and one of his best friends every single day. And right now, Raisa, who’s been more of a maternal figure than Moira could ever attempt to be, he has a sense of his childhood back.

“I missed you too, moya kroshka (my little one). How is Ms. Thea doing?”

The brunette hacker chimes, “She’s lovely and getting married to an amazing young woman soon.”

Happiness shines in her eyes when she twists a yellow gold band around her finger.

“Love is such a wonderful experience.”

Oliver’s leather glove squeaks as his thumb caresses the gems on Overwatch’s rings.

“We’re glad you consider our offer to be Tommy’s nanny. Oliver and Thea have always spoken so highly of you, and I can honestly think of no one better to help take care of our son and my stepson…”

“Actually, Ms. Felicity,” Raisa interjects.

She corrects, “Just Felicity please.”

“I am afraid I cannot accept your offer.”

“Oh, well if it’s about the money, I’m sure Felicity and I can come up with a solution."

“Oliver, sweetheart, it was never about the money. You see my mother is a real fighter. She has beat breast and cancer of the colon, but now she is having these terrible back pains. I must be with her instead.”

Glancing at her man, the expectant mother acknowledges, “We understand.”

“Thank you. I hoped to tell the pair of you in person, but I will not, what is it you Americans say, leave you high and parched, my niece Amira works for the same agency, and I taught her everything she knows.”

“Well, then, I guess we’ll give her a call and set a meeting next week.” Oliver bids glumly, “I know I probably never said this enough growing up, but thank you for all that you’ve done for Thea and me.”

“No thanks needed, my sweet boy. Keep doing good, and never let your wife go.”

She huffs in amusement, “Not a chance. He’s stuck with me for life.”

“A half of a whole, Babe. Wouldn’t be alive without you.” He agrees, booping her nose.

Oliver watches Raisa walk away, and not even the mask conceals tears threatening to fall from those deep blue eyes. A frown tugs at the corners of his mouth, and an A-shaped crinkle marrs between his brows.

“Oliver, Honey, it’s okay to not feel alright. She was an important part of your life. You never have to keep it bottled in with me. You understand?”

“Yeah, I know. It’s just…”

“Talk to me.”

With a watery chuckle, her husband reminds, “Hey, isn’t that usually my line?”

“Uh-huh. I stole it just this once.”

“Okay, Raisa was the first woman to break my heart.” Oliver exhales, memories flooding his mind.

Felicity’s magenta painted lips form a small ‘o’ in confusion.

He explains, “When I was nine, she made my first souffle with whipped cream. I helped. I was so proud, and that’s how I found out I was going to be a big brother. My parents never said a word until my mom started showing. She and my chauffeur would be the ones to take Tommy and to whatever movie we wanted — _Power Rangers_ , _Star Wars_ , anything.”

“ _Star Wars_ , huh?” She waggles her eyebrows.

Her husband wonders, hand resting on the baby bump, “Yep, you want to do something about it?”

“Nice try, but you’re not getting out of this one that easily. Tell me more.”

“When I was eleven, Tommy got this really cool remote control car, and I didn’t. I ruined my mom’s family portrait that year, and Raisa took me to where she and her mother used to live in the Glades, it was the first time I ever thought about helping people. She was the one, who wouldn’t let me get away with shit when I was teenager while my parents were God knows where trying to save their sham of a marriage. She dropped me off at college while my parents were too busy on their new cellphones. Raisa was the best.”

“Hm.” Felicity notes, tapping a finger against her lips, “Sounds like Amira has a lot to live up to, but I know she will.”

Felicity always has this way of finding the silver lining in difficult situations. They’re always there for each other. Oliver scrubs his face in his wife’s private en-suite restroom, hiding in plain sight behind a curtain with no QI employee the wiser thanks to a simple shut door policy.

“Mrs. Queen.” Her executive assistant Gerry reports over the intercom, “Beth Davenport is here to see you now."

“Ger, give me a sec.”

Felicity inhales rapid, short breaths.

“Honey, breathe with me.” Oliver instructs, taking three deep breaths, “In and out, slowly. You got this.”

“I got this. She follows her man’s lead, “I got this.”

The founder and CEO requests, “Okay, G, send in Ms. Davenport please.”

“Very well, ma’am.”

A woman who’s in her early sixties saunters into her boss’ office with an air overconfidence. Felicity thinks if Beth has her nose any higher, she’d smell the fresh scent of rain pattering on the rooftop of this skyscraper.

The secretary greets curtly, “Felicity.”

“Actually, in your case, Beth, I prefer Mrs. Queen.” The tech mogul directs, “Please have a seat.”

Beth does so, but not without wiping the vinyl chair with a wet nap first.

“Mrs. Queen, may I ask why I’m here? Mr. Steele has me on a very tight schedule.”

“Yes, I’m aware. But need I remind you, I’m also Walter’s boss and yours?”

“Well, well.” The older woman laughs bitterly, “I was wondering when the power trip would go to that pretty little head of yours.”

“Excuse me?” Her superior scoffs indignantly.

Walter’s soon-to-be ex-secretary feigns remorse. “My apologies, Mrs. Queen. But give it a rest, dear. Everyone knows you slept your way to the top. I mean, after all, before this beautiful building was Queen Incorporated or even Smoak Tech, it was Oliver Enterprises. My Robert always wanted his son to take over the family business.”

“My husband may have given the rights to this building, but I’ll have you know I work my ass off for every single department in this company. I earned my right to be here. Your Robert, so you and the other Mr. Queen were intimate, so let me ask you, Beth, what does that make you Mistress number five in Robert’s little black book?”

“Honey, he always said I was the first and best one he’s ever had before that cretin Moira trapped with him another pregnancy.”

Oliver’s angrily clutches the curtain behind him. Thankfully, it goes unnoticed.

“That’s it!” Felicity shouts, slamming her palm on the desk, “You’re fired.”

“Bitch, you can’t fire me for a nearly twenty-five year old affair.”

“No.” She concurs, plucking a tiny bug-sized listening device from drawer, “But I can fire you for invading my privacy, and bugging my office. Before you say anything, your fingerprints are all over it. And you, Ms. Davenport, are lucky I don’t have you arrested.”

The older woman snorts, “Arrested for what, sweetheart?”

“Attempting to sell schematics of our weapons development projects, which are strictly for the SCPD and US military on a case by case basis. You tried to sell them to a Count Wallenstein in Markovia. Also, if you’re wondering, I can go back and check those deleted emails after you had them erased from your hard drive. That, Ms. Davenport breaks multiple federal and international laws.”

Her eyes widen.

“Benny told me he was from Gotham.”

“Benny is Bernard Wallenstein, a highly publicized dictator in Eastern Europe.”

“Ma’am, I’m not a spy. I… I was just trying to get what my Robbie always wanted.”

“You know, Beth, I’m feeling a little benevolent today, so here’s what we’re going to do. You listen to me, and you listen carefully. You’re hereby blacklisted from any company tech or otherwise. I can and I will fire you today. But since I’m feeling so very generous, I’m going to offer a lovely severance check.” She scribbles a number on a Panda Post-It with a lot of zeroes on it. “You’re going to play along, walk out of this office in tears, and live life scot free with your grandchildren. Do we understand each other?”

Beth squints at the number, “That’s it? No way.”

“Oh, Ms. Davenport, if you don’t agree, I suppose you can take it up with my partner. He’s far less agreeable than me, so you’re going to be really upset when you meet him..”

Felicity smirks, drawing back the curtain automatically with the touch of a button.

A wall of muscle in hunter green leather and Kevlar is revealed from behind the drapes.

With voice modulator on, the Green Arrow warns. “Beth Davenport, Mrs. Queen is offering you a deal, I suggest you take it or else.”

“Or else what?” His father’s former mistress gulps, desperately trying to sound intimidating. But it’s no use.

The Green Arrow informs gruffly, getting up close and personal, “or you’ll be spending the first five years of your early retirement in Gitmo.”

Color drains from her face.

“I believe I’ll take that check now, Mrs. Queen.”

“Very well,”

Beth doesn’t have to fake tears. She runs out of there faster than a horse at the Kentucky Derby. The power couple smirk, not feeling a touch guilty for their methods.

“Nicely done, my love.”

They high-five.

“Thanks, partner.” His wife says, smacking him on the behind as Oliver retreats to the restroom to change into a stuffy mayoral suit.

“ _Felicity_.”

Drawing out every single syllable of her name. Ugh, he knows what the does to her.

“What? I had to. It was right on my radar.” His wife giggles with a shrug, “Now, go on. Get dressed.”

It’s a long wait to unlace those heavy combat boots, but her husband finally reappears looking nearly fit for City Hall.

“Baby, is my tie on straight?”

That navy blue day suit and pinstripe burgundy tie complete with Italian dress shoes is a true feast for the eyes. His wife remains uncharacteristically quiet as she fixates on his torso, knowing what’s underneath akin to the deep web — every muscle, scar, and mole.

“Wow! You look good in blue.”

Dimples pool in his cheeks as Oliver zips his duffel bag.

“Felicity, Honey… Oh, Mrs. Queen….” Still nothing. Well, this is a foolproof, “Lissy,”

She scrunches her nose, counting down, “Sorry, three, two, one. You know it’s difficult to concentrate when you wear a suit that sexy. What do you need?”

“Is my tie on straight?”

She examines, gesturing for her man to squat down. Felicity adjusts straight as one of his arrows in the center, “Hm, perfect.”

“By the way, you look good in blue too.” He pecks her cheek with a wet kiss, whispering, “But those boots you’ve been wearing have been driving me wild all morning.”

Oh, Felicity knows. It’s one of the benefits of Fall — boots, pumpkin, cinnamon, and stews galore. Her fingers dance across the swell of her growing belly. She can’t fathom how their son is supposed to keep growing in there until December. Though, Tommy can take all the time he needs in the womb. She cheekily flashes a glimpse of those sexy chocolate brown thigh high boots under the hem of her royal blue sweater dress. He adjusts the sleeve, covering her black bra strap.

Felicity mouths, “I’ll see you at the bunker later, Mr. Mayor.”

They stride over across the hall to Walter’s office in the accounting department. His boss drops a pile of resumes on his desk.

“Oliver, when did you get here?”

“Oh, about ten minutes ago, I came to check on Felicity’s -”

“Eating habits.” The CEO fibs. “This guy’s such a worrywart. He came to see if I actually ate breakfast before work. And I did. Gotta keep me and the little dude healthy.”

The Englishman’s eyes flick up from his spreadsheet, “Ah, I see.”

“Here’s some possibilities for your next executive assistant.” Felicity promises, gesturing to the slew of multicolored folders. “They’ve all be checked by the DOJ, scour through them thoroughly, and pick which ones you like. We should find someone new within a few weeks.”

“Right then.” Walter answers, circling the monthly budget total. “Is there anything else, boss?”

“This time, I’d like to be present when you make a new hire in your final meeting. The Beth Davenport debacle cannot and will not happen again under my watch. Am I clear?”

“Crystal, ma’am.”

Oliver beams with pride. He opens his suit jacket because there’s just something about his lady wearing her boss-pants or in this instance, a dress that has him impressed in all kinds of way. She commands a room, protects her company similar to a mama bear, yet still still treats her employees like family.

Oliver mentions, “Looks like you have everything under control.”

Her husband is about leave, though Felicity asks, adopting a British accent, “Walter, old friend, what’s with the huge package?”

“Oh, my dear, that’s for your— ”

Oliver coughs, “Ixnay on the you-know-what.”

“What?” His wife’s lips pursing.

“Ah, ah. It’s a surprise.”

“Oh yeah? And when will I be getting this mystery gift?”

“Two weeks, Babe.” Oliver waves, exiting the office.

Felicity pushes her chair after Oliver before reaches the elevator. Not an easy task in her third trimester.

“Hey, hey, hey.” His wife recalls, huffing and puffing, “You forgot something.”

Oliver cocks his head, “What?”

“Hello.” She points to her lips.

Palming his forehead, he smooches her lips, “My bad.”

“No playing with your laser pointer during the meeting with Starling General reps.” His wife prompts, swiping her lipstick off his mouth with her thumb. “If you do, I gave Thea permission to slap you upside the head.”

Her husband adds, “Lunch at the latest by one.”

“Okay, okay.”

“I’m serious, Felicity. Don’t make me call Gerry to hound you.”

“Me too.” She cutely waves goodbye, “Love you.”

With an adorable head shake, he says, “Love you more.”

Day dips into night. Fluorescent lights illuminate the cavernous space. Overwatch’s typing falters when an elevator dings. Dinah, Rene, and Rory all support Curtis, who took a bullet to the leg.

“Ow, ow, ow!” Mister Terrific gripes, wincing, “Careful, guys, I’m dying.”

“No you’re not, Stretch.” Rene has had it up to here with Curtis’ complaining, shoving him towards the medbay table.

“Woah.” Overwatch whistles, “Guns aren’t usually Drago’s Mo.”

The Green Arrow sighs, “Yeah, he had a little help.”

“Oh, guys. I think I’m going off-duty for the next week,” groans the injured vigilante

Black Canary remembers. “Felicity got shot in the shoulder. I had a bullet graze to my bicep, and we both went back to work the next day.”

“Hey, bro. Can those magic rags of yours heal me?”

“No, man.” Rory denies, grinning, “I think you’ve been watching too much _Tangled_ with your daughter.”

“Damn.”

Overwatch rolls down her ramp to the medbay. After a quick hand wash, she slaps on some blue gloves. “Calm down, you big baby. I’ll extract the bullet and patch you right up.”

“Yo, Hoss!” Wild Dog requests with a hand raise, “Can I give Glasses here a sedative the old fashioned way?”

“No!” The Green Arrow and Overwatch vouch in a parental manner.

Felicity injects some lidocaine, but it doesn’t much of an effect on the former Olympian. A string of curse words echo throughout their secret superhero lair.

Oliver, who’s halfway out of his suit, advises, “Everyone go home. We’ll pick up where we left off tomorrow.”

“Mmm…” Curtis mumbles groggily as he uses Dinah like a crutch, “At least I didn’t pass out from the pain.”

Dinah appeases, “Of course, you didn’t, Bud.”

In truth, oh, yes he did as soon as he saw a trickle of blood, but the team agreed they’ll let Curtis have his moment.

“Hey, Fel-”

“Tsk, tsk, we’re still in the bunker, Green Arrow.”

He indulges her, “Overwatch, I need you to take a look at something before we head home.”

The Emerald Archer reveals a laptop with several nicks.

“Are those bullet holes?” His wife questions, examining the broken PC.

“Close. Puncture marks from a tantō blade. Whatever was on this laptop, they didn’t want us to see.” He informs, requesting, “Can you—”

“Yes, I can extract the data off it. It’s kinda romantic because this reminds of me of the first time we met. It’s kind of a full circle thing for us.”

“Yeah,” Oliver huffs with a cheeky grin.

They stare at each other moon-eyed, but quickly get down to business.

Overwatch and Green Arrow soon discover Drago’s plans to release all the prison inmates Team Arrow’s put away in Star City. The only problem is they had to strike when Drago does — hacker versus hacker. Who knew samurais had become so high tech? Although, it is the twenty-first century.

A week flies by, and Drago is damn good at disappearing without a trace. For awhile, life seems peaceful. Oliver, Felicity, Samantha, William, and Christopher all head out to dinner at Silver + Gold bistro and grill after their friend Renae Watson’s book launch _Diary of a Former Video Game Addict_

The belt on Felicity’s blush empire waist dress is undone. Samantha’s gold strappy shoes are in her fiancé Christopher’s hands, and William rips off his bow tie, chomping into his burger.

“That was so much fun.” William mentions with a mouthful.

Samantha reminds, fiddling with her press pass “Smaller bites.”

“Chew with your mouth closed,” his father continues.

Felicity adds, a cheek stuffed with lamb pot pie, “Take a sip of your soda.”

“And wipe the ketchup off you mouth, Bubba.” His stepfather finishes.

“Pfft you guys eat exactly like me.”

Kid has a fair point, and it’s getting late. Yet Oliver wants his family to make one stop before their night draws to a close.

The group ends up at Oliver’s old apartment, where he and William lived when “Olicity” as tabloid rags and super fans dub them first reunited. Now Thea uses it for storage and a secondary office.

Oliver announces, fetching a DVD from a stack. “Look what I found.”

“Man, is that…”

William groans, reading the label “Oh, no.”

They pile on the couch, watching a home movie entitled. “WC age 18 months.”

Samantha’s cheeks heat at those side bangs, and Oliver’s grandma Daphne’s yellow gold ring with a huge emerald on her finger.

She pats Oliver’s knee, “We should cut out that part.”

“Yeah, but…”

“It’s fine.” Felicity and Christopher give their two cents in unison.

And, it really is. Their partners aren’t jealous in the slightest. Everyone has a romantic past. Samantha and Oliver aren’t in love with each other anymore. Though they’re friends and co-parents because it’s best for their son — Star City’s version of Bruce Willis and Demi Moore.

“Ha!” Will laughs, pointing to the apples of their cheeks, “I’ve never seen them blush that hard.”

“Is that Daddy?” Sam prompts on the video, bouncing Baby William in her arms, “Say hi Daddy.”

“Hi Daddy.” A familiar voice answers..

“Not you, Merlyn, the baby, huh?” Sam quips, breeze fluttering through her stick straight locks.

“Hey, Bud. Uncle Tommy or possibly your future stepdad doing rad camera work, here.”

“Shut it, Tommy.” The former couple insists.

“Gee,” He notes, turning the camera away from himself, “Tough crowd.”

The subsequent clips show William on an infant swing along with Sam and him going down a slide. The last bit is a shot of their picnic.

“Yummy!” Oliver tries to get the one and a half year to eat.

“He’s not hungry, Babe.”

Tommy interjects, “Wait ‘til you have more teeth, kid.”

“Daddy!” William squeals, clapping against his light five o’clock shadow.

“Yeah, Buddy.”

Oliver and Samantha kiss William’s chubby cheeks.

“Mama!”

“Say we love you, Daddy.” Sam tries, adopting an adorable tone, “We love you.”

“Nooo!”

“Alright, nephew.” Tommy teases, raising his hand, “High-five! Can you give Uncle Tom a high-five?”

“Uncle Tommy’s being a as— buttface.”

Samantha kisses away his annoyance while William is more interested in his blue blanket.

“But your first picnic in the park was a success.”

“They’re nailing this parenting thing.”

Six months later, Oliver gets stranded on Lian Yu.

Pushing those thoughts out of his mind, he requests, “I’d like to make a toast.”

“There’s not much to toast up here, is there?”

They lift their mugs of hot cocoa and warm apple cider.

Samantha thinks, “To Tommy Merlyn, who had a heart of gold.”

“To old memories and new because they make us this crazy mixed up family.” Her fiancé follows.

“To help others like Oliver and I will be doing with our Halo & Wings charity in the Glades.” Felicity adds.

Oliver concludes, “And to family, fun, and new adventures.”

“Geez, this is one long toast.”

Again, William’s not wrong. The room rouses with laughter. Each couple kisses. Oliver and Samantha kiss their son’s cheeks like when he was little.

He grimaces and wipes off the saliva. Felicity pulls her husband aside.

“One day soon that’ll be us at the park with Will and Tommy, right?”

“And any other future kids we may have.”

“Mm” A moan vibrates against his lips, “Sounds perfect.”

It truly is like whipped cream to their cocoas — a perfect way to end their night.


	18. New Normal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt 18:** Escape

Felicity sits on a plum couch across from her psychotherapist, one of Washington’s best, Dr. Vadhana Adani. Silence weights the room. The brunette hacker twists her chipped wedding band incessantly as her two front teeth are stark contrasts to her signature red lip. Fluorescent lights hum as Felicity’s eyes dart over to a small potted sunflower on the therapist’s desk.The doctor offers her patient a warm smile, careful not to startle Felicity. She plucks a dark strand off her teal dress, clasping a leather bound notebook in her lap.

“So why don’t you tell me why where we’re here?”

The expectant mother jokes, “Because you told me to. Hey, okay. Enough about me. How was your day, doc?”

“It’s lovely. Autumn is one of my favorite seasons.” Vadhana obliges, “But now we’re here to talk about you, so tell me what’s been going on these past few weeks?”

Felicity chuckles, hand following her unborn son’s movements, “Well, obviously-”

“Of course.” She redirects, adjusting a gold bracelet. “But why don’t you tell me about your biological father? That must’ve been such a shock. You must see your entire childhood in a completely different light.”

The off-duty hero’s eyes flicker over to her therapist's black pumps and a colorful lotus tattoo on her foot, which is stunning against her olive skin with rich golden undertones. After a swallow of courage, Felicity spills her guts. They talk about meeting Eddie for the first time, how it’s breaking her heart, and how her anxiety is heightened by the fact that she is becoming a new mom in eight short weeks or less. It certainly isn’t easy being half of Star City’s most renown couples, and pressure chains an anchor to the pit of her stomach. There’s no escape.

Hormones and anguish don’t play well for anyone, especially a pregnant woman. Her face scrunches in discontent. Felicity’s mouth trembles, yet no tears stain her mascara.Though, they get to the root of this month’s matter by the end of the session.

“Maybe if I had done something different, I-I wouldn’t... I’m really scared. With my parents and craziness of our double lives, how I can be a good mom? How can I get better if I keep everything locked up inside me?”

“Everything?” Dr. Adani inquires with an eyebrow raise, jotting down notes, “Like what?”

“The nightmares and flashbacks about Lian Yu and Darhk were long gone. Well, with the exception of May. Lately if I hear a car backfire, it feels I’m right there — when bullet and shrapnel pierced my spine, smells fire and ash, all of it. I remember it all, and I thought I was getting better.”

“The mind works in mysterious ways, but I’m here to help you and Oliver figure it out. With the life you lead, exposure to guns, criminals, and danger can be constant triggers your Post Traumatic Stress. Before you go, I want you to take another look at the ‘Before I Blame Myself’ worksheet.”

She does so, scouring over the clinical dry words. Each paragraph proclaims how an individual should not place blame on him or herself, the importance of not taking anger out on others, and how these emotions are all too common in regards to PTSD. Her lips tick up in at a doodle in the margins. Rene first drew a penis, thinking it was simply a piece of scrap paper. So Oliver turned the phallic symbol into a cat on a branch, reminding “Hang in there. We’ve got this together, Baby. I love you so damn much.”

“ _Felicity_.”

The doctor draws out her name, similar to a decadent kheer.

“What’s up, doc?”

Humor hides her pain. Oliver and their therapist know Felicity’s deflection tactics better than anyone

“It might be helpful for you to start a second journal and write down what you feel after these recurring nightmares.”

She nods, “Alright, Dr. V.”

“I want you and Oliver to set up two separate appointments with me for next Thursday.”

“Got it.” Felicity’s attendant Charlotte helps the CEO into her chair, “I’ll remind him. I swear, the man cooks like a restaurant chef, yet forgets to close his dresser drawer every morning. And I still don’t know how he loses so many pairs of dress socks in the dryer.”

The greeting from shutterbugs is always unwelcomed. Felicity jerks at multiple camera snaps, ignoring every rude question. She literally has to throw a blanket over her bump and hide behind her purse, so photogs don’t get their fracking money shot. Thankfully, Felicity and Charlotte reach her truck unscathed.

The nurse assures, putting the vehicle on drive, “The worst is over, ma’am.”

“No, it’s not.” Her boss sighs, wanting to curl in a ball if she could.

At the very least, they flee from annoying paparazzi.

An hour later, Oliver arrives for his own therapy session. It’s vastly different from Felicity. He goes from sitting to standing every few minutes, pacing the floor like a caged tiger at a zoo. He fiddles with his expensive Hugo Boss striped tie before the mayor finally settles on the sofa.

“You’re in a safe space, Mr. Queen. What are you anxious about?”

“What makes you think I’m— “

The psychologist gestures to the hand tapping against his hip.

Forcing a laugh, Oliver cuts in, “You know me, Dr. Adani — always on edge.”

“Ah, shall we begin there?”

“Wait, what?” He sputters, confusion flitting over his face, “You-you tricked me!”

“No, Mr. Queen, it’s my job to focus on whatever ails my patients and help them work through it.”

“How come Felicity gets to call you Vadhana or Dr. V while I get stuck with Dr. Adani?”

“You never asked,” shrugs the elder woman. “Have you been writing in your dream journals?”

“Yes.”

With a shaky breath, Oliver recalls watching his whole world go up in smoke no thanks to C4 and a psychopathic murderer. This talk soon leads to present time — no matter how hard he fights for his city in day or the shadows. It always needs saving. When will it end?

Her brown eyes meet his blue. The doctor scoots closer, perching on the edge of her chair.

“The bigger question is when do you want it to end? When do you want to hang up the hood?”

Fuck, he blurts it out loud. What is his wife rubbing off on him?

Palming his face, the off-duty Emerald Archer confesses, “There’s a drive in me which wants to ensure this city is safe for my friends and family. They’re my greatest strength.”

“And what does that drive mean to you?”

“I-I honestly don’t know. Maybe it means I never can leave the arrows in my quiver. I want to protect the people closest to me. There’s danger everywhere, and it’s not always some guy lurking in a mask.”

Pursing her glossed lips, the therapist surmises, “Paparazzi have run rampant lately.”

“Yep. I’ve never wanted to throat chop some people so badly, but that’s not who I am anymore. I don’t want to be know as the broody, violent little rich boy from over a decade ago. It’s my duty to keep my wife and sons safe.”

“I understand, though as we’ve discussed before, there are other ways to deal with your anger.”

“I want to be done feeling broken. It’s like clockwork every fucking year, some idiot tries to take everyone I love. I know I’m better with them around me, but why am I… Actually why are my friends, family, and team always walking around with targets on our backs?”

“Because you all fight for what’s right. Unfortunately, it comes with a cost.”

Newer wounds make themselves known - sword, bullet graze, and a reddish bruise from a swift bo staff. Minor injuries pull at his muscles every single day.

Oliver acknowledges, “My body and mind have been to Hell and back.”

“Which is why you need someone to talk at the end of the night about your other work.”

Crinkles marr his forehead, he mentions, “Dr. Adani, I’m already married. I don’t need you to prescribe me a girlfriend.”

“No, but in my professional opinion, your communication skills in the field need a lot of work on both ends. Some people say one can’t mix business with pleasure. But in your case, I know you two do not want to burden each other, or cause any secondhand trauma. However, communication and alternative outlets are key.”

Stroking his stubble, the politician wonders, “So now what?”

“Talk to each other about more than your personal lives, keep writing in your journal, cook, read, watch television, and maybe it’s time to let go of the other identity for a little while. But that’s up to you. I’ll see you and Felicity again next Thursday.”

“Okay.” Oliver agrees, shaking her hand, “And Dr. Adani?”

“You’re welcome.”

They listen to their psychotherapist. Conversations in regards to field work seem as if they crack eggs into a new batter. It’s messy, but necessary. The week doesn’t exactly breeze through, but thank God, it’s Friday. Today is a gray day, Oliver stirs at the constant buzzing of his phone. His azure eyes open gradually as sunlight cuts through fog, streaming in through their maroon curtains. Felicity remains deep in the trenches of sleep. Her brows furrow, sweat sheathing her skin — something Oliver immediately recognizes as a nightmare.

“No, Oliver, no!” Felicity shouts restlessly, clawing into the sheets, “Come back! Come back to me!”

He nudges her shoulder, “Baby, wake up. Hey!”

His loud tone jolts her awake after trying to keep her from finally. Her nerves simmer to whimpers. Felicity’s eyes flutter open, honing on her man. Concern muddles on his features — the frown, his brows knitting together, and a tinge of guilt in his eyes.

Cupping his stubble as if she needs to feel he’s real, his wife murmurs, “I thought I lost you… I can’t.”

“Hey, you’re not going to lose me.” He speaks softly in an intimate tone reserved only for her. “I’m here. I’m right here.”

She nods against his calloused palms, dropping her own. He inhales a sharp breath, memorizing her face because Oliver loves waking up to this amazing woman every morning. Their mouths meld in a ravenous, desperate kiss, as if they’ve been away from one another for six months. Yet, the duo has been by each other’s side for nearly a year. Well, marriage wise anyway. Their skin sticks together with sweat and a substance he can’t quite recognize. Unfortunately, their phones buzz with notifications off the charges. Though, it is nice while Tommy stretches in her belly like clockwork.

“Oh, geez.” She blushes, giggling, “Again.”

“What? What is it? What’s going on?”

“My boobs are leaking. And Tommy and I are hungry. So much for romance.”.

Breast milk spots darken the top of her light blue nightie.

“Ah, the bliss of week thirty-two. This also happened to Sam. How ‘bout I make breakfast and you get cleaned up?”

Oliver tugs on an old pair of grey sweats over his black boxer-briefs, placing his wife in her chair. Felicity swaps her nightgown for one of Oliver’s red plaid thermal shirts, a nude nursing bra, matching panties, and thick wool socks with an emerald throw blanket. Their kitchen crackles with life — turkey bacon sizzling, an omelet rising in the slow cooker with all the fixin’s., and hot cocoa percolating in the Keurig for his two favorite customers. Will’s bare feet pad he floor. He yawns. From the look on his face, he may have been this short of taking his stepmom’s chair lift downstairs.

“Morning, Felicity.” He grumbles groggily, pressing a kiss to her cheek. His hand rests on her belly. “Hey, little bro.”

“Ahem.”

His finger twitch as he kneads them through his messy locks.

“Good morning to you too, Dad.”

William grabs the utensils. They eat together in a comfortable silence. William helps his father place dishes in the dishwasher before he gets ready for school.

“Hey, Bud.”

He answers with one foot on the stairs, “Yeah, Felicity?”

“Don’t wear those same ratty Diamonds sweats for the third day in a row. Your Grandma Sadie bought you a cool pair of jeans for your birthday.”

She’s not wrong.

“Alright, alright. I hear ya.”

Oliver and Felicity finally check their cellphones. They have rules: No work in the bedroom. And no distractions at the table. Oliver’s mouth falls open, and Felicity gasps, tens of notifications asking if they’re alright — divorce, counseling, and split rumors up the wazoo after Felicity got papped outside Dr. Adani’s office. The Queens arrange an impromptu meeting with their social media manager, Nick Pearson after dropping off William to Starling Middle.

Nick Pearson, a tall guy with a suave five o’clock shadow, runs through the hallway, skidding his boss’ office. He tugs on the hem of his vibrant blue alien t-shirt. Unfortunately, Oliver’s security detail are none too please..

“Name?”

“Nick Pearson.” He answers, rummaging through his messenger bag, “C’mon, guys, this isn’t funny. You know me.”

Azi jokes, using a stern tone, “Please provide your matter of business, sir.”

“Urgent meeting with Oliver and Felicity. Now just….”

“Very well,” Azi obliges, door creaking open.

He huffs under his breath, “Thank you.”

“Hey kid?” Dwayne prompts, “You sure you weren't on _Chuck_?” You kinda look like that Zachary Levi guy.”

“Nope.” He smiles, “But I get that a lot.”

As soon as his Van sneakers set foot in the mayor’s office. It’s down to business.

Felicity snaps, “Pearson, damage control. A.S.A.P. Suggestions, Mr. PR and social media manager?”

“Wow!” He notes, “Someone is snippy this. A,M.”

“Dude, don’t poke the mama bear.” Oliver advises, “We need to release a joint statement now before the ten o’clock news.”

“On it. Go, boss.”

Felicity thinks aloud. “Recently, false stories have been leaked to press. While we don’t normally share too much about our personal lives….”

“Rumors claim we’re ending our marriage. However, those reports could not be further from the truth. Felicity and I love each other deeply and plan on being married for the next fifty years or ‘til death do us part - whichever one comes first. We look forward to the arrival of Baby Queen, and we could say some garbage like ‘We remain committed to our marriage.’” She continues.

Oliver adds, "But that’s not us. Honestly, we love each other more every day, but marriage has its ups and downs. We’re both currently seeking help for Post Traumatic Stress, so we can be the best partners in life to each other and good parents to our children.

In other words, we’re doing fine, ladies and gents. Don’t be a prick.

Love,

Oliver and Felicity Queen a.k.a. 'Mayor Handsome and Star City’s Technological Overlord.'”

Not the most typical or professional way to release a joint statement. Nick wraps up  the message with hearts and tears of joy emojis. He shares it on their Instagram, Twitter, and Facebook. It may not be cut and dry like some celebrity couples, but they send it with honesty, laughter, and love.

Closing all apps, Nick confirms, “Done. See you lovebirds at the…”

Oliver pretends to slice his neck.

“Oh, I’ll see you two later.”

Strangely, their work day cuts short at 3P.M. Oliver picks Felicity up with the promise of a late lunch. He’s not lying, though he does purposefully neglect to mention the surprise baby shower. They enter Bellotto’s Gelato and Desserts. They’re friends from Teams Arrow, Flash, Supergirl, and Legends pile in the large space. With these many friends and gifts, people can barely see the tiled checkered floor.

Felicity laughs, pointing the finger at her husband, “You, asshole!”

“Love you too, Hon.”

She yanks the collar of his favorite black pea coat, “You knew about this, and didn’t tell me.”

His nose brushes against hers, “Hence, the point of a surprise, Babe.”

They specifically asked for no gifts. Felicity had an inking a baby shower would be happening anyway. She and Oliver want friends and family to donate what they can to the Deaden’s Children’s Hospital in Seattle. However, per usual, their loved ones refuse to listen to reason. They not only donate money, but they spring for other gifts as well.

“Who planned all this?”

Thea and Mackenzie chime in unison, “We did.”

“Of course,” Felicity figures with a playful eye roll.

Her sister-in-law, cuddling her fiancé, “I am Moira Queen’s daughter after all.”

“And we had help from Nick’s wife.” Mackenzie directs, “Come on, Cutie. Let’s go check out your loot.”

The Legends team sent basket of expensive red wine, dark hocolate, and smooth aged bourbon in a basket along with a quick stop with Nate and Amaya for post-delivery. Thea and Mackenzie chip n for a baby monitor with audio and visual. Jesse and Wally speed by with a sack full of stuffed animals. Cait shows them a video of Barry unpacking and arranging the nursery at super speed in their own home.

“How did Bar get in our house, my love?”

Oliver reminds, “He can phase through walls.”

They watch Barry put together a crib, bassinet, and changing table from Oliver and Felicity’s executive assistant, Jett and Gerry.

Adopting a cheesy game show host voice, Caitlin urges, “Mr. Ramon, tell the Queens, what’s behind door number one.”

The engineer steps aside to reveal a stroller attachment.

“It connects to the sides of your wheelchair, Felicity.”Cisco explains with a demonstration “See? Like this.”

It clicks into place.

“So I can actually push Tommy in a stroller?”

She tries the adapted stroller out with a brief stride around the shop.

His long hair bobs along with the confirmation that yes, Felicity gets past one hurdle of life as a handicapped parent.

“Mm-hm.” He promises with a shy smile.

Her lip quivers, “Mm, I don’t know what to say.”

“I do.” Oliver says, rasing his hand, “Cisco, you’re awesome.”

They high-five.

Cisco squeaks, “I finally high-fived the Green Arrow.”

He goes in for a bro-hug.

“Yeah, I’m still much of a hugger.”

Intertwining their fingertips, Felicity mentions, “Uh-huh, he saves those for me, William, and Thea.”

“Anyway.” The willowy brunette biologist informs, “The crib also has a side door, similar to a gate, so you don’t have to reach in for Tommy from up top.”

“Ah, this day just keeps better and better.”

Curtis also shows via video chat how the rocker he built moves itself gently with the touch of a button. Lyla’s gift of a breast pump and nipple cream  is a bit awkward, considering she may not be able to breastfeed due to certain over the counter pain meds she will most likely need post C-sectiom for physical therapy with Paul.

Felicity swears, “Lyla, it’s... fine, practical.”

“No, it’s not.” Lyla concedes, rushing out the door, “Um, I have to check on the kids and Johnny.”

The Queens are quite surprised at Quentin’s gift of receiving blankets, bibs, and an SCPD onsies.

“What?” He recalls, “I had two daughters back in the day.

Samantha, William, and Christopher give Felicity a baby shower, and Sam snaps candids throughout the entire afternoon, so they can remember these special moments. They snack on pumpkin spice cupcakes, taquitos, and quiche. Their friend Nick goes for a Team Arrow blanket for eventual tummy time. Rene, Quentin, and Zoe give the Queens matching his and her diaper bags along with a stuffed toy bulldog, Tweety bird, and Sylvester the cat all which talk when you squeeze their wing or paw.

“My idea.” Rene winks.

Dinah jabs him, “You can take out the batteries.”

“But they sound so cute.” Zoe objects.

Oliver grits, “Of course, it was.”

No cliche baby games for this shower, though Rene and Oliver do get into a race to see who can diaper and swaddle stuffed animals the fastest. Nick judges the contest after presenting Mama with a Tech Village gift card.

“Girl, you made it.” Felicity spots a familiar brunette with piecey bob.

Renae comments, kneeling for a hug, “Of course, lady. I wouldn’t miss your big day. Last time we were at Belloto’s was your bridal shower.”

Her pal intones, “I know.”

“I wanted to give you these.” Renae presents with three emoji gold and silver necklaces — heart eyes, laughter, and glasses, “I hope you like them.”

“I love them.” The brunette hacker assures,

Oliver prompts, scratching his chin, “Huh? You know what would go good with those?”

“What?”

Her husband drops down on his knee, proposing again.

“Oh my God.” Felicity squeals, “I don’t think I wore enough deodorant for this.”

“Felicity Megan Queen, I love you more than life. I’m so grateful I get to be yours always. And I know through no fault of your own, the rings I had given you as symbols of our love, have gotten scratched to Hell. You deserve so much more than that, so if I may."

He upgrades her three karat princess cut engagement ring to a three karat emerald on a platinum band enforced with proprietary alloy nth metal kelcium, which can withstand nuclear blasts. Of course, Oliver makes the rings himself. Her infinity wedding band is similar, yet has a unique crisscross with small diamonds alongside. There’s no way those rings will get ruined from her push rims now.

“Do you like them?"

“Yes, I love them, and I love you.”

They finish up the party with a photo of Oliver sucking frosting off Felicity’s fingertips, kissing from her hand to cheek in front of their loved ones.. Fittingly, it’s against a mint green wall with the word “Delicious” in cursive chocolate brown above them

Despite the tension, they agree to stop by Quentin and Donna’s apartment since Felicity left Lou’s squeaky toy there.

“You ready?” Oliver wonders.

Felicity sighs, “Now or never.”

She pushes her wheelchair through a corridor, ending up in the Lances’ bedroom.

“Hi, Mo-” Her daughter exclaims, “Woah, it’s like Baby Gap exploded in here.”

She looks up from the mountain of newborn, infant, and toddler clothes

“You know I fold when I’m nervous. You’re calling me mom again?”

“You’ve been there my whole life. How can I not? But I’m still pissed at you for hiding a secret this big. We need a new normal.”

“A clean slate.” Donna concurs.

“Mm-hm. You know you could’ve come to my baby shower Thea sent an e-vite.”

Her lips purse, “A what?”

“Here, let me show you.”

She pulls her phone out of her red coat, and tells her mother all about the baby shower.


	19. Come Away With Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt(s) 19:** Gravity/Sent to the wrong printer

Oliver beats egg whites into a mixing bowl. It sizzles in a frying power along with diced onions and bell peppers. He pulls the turkey meatloaf out of the oven after a ding. He turns to the living room, about to speak. His lips tick up in a soft smile. William and Felicity are working on his algebra homework.

Felicity prompts with a pencil tucked behind her ear, “So if the area is sixteen, it means the missing length is…?”

“Four,” Her stepson thinks.

Squeezing his shoulder, the brunette hacker says, “There you go, Bub. You’ll get that math grade up in no time.”

“I can help you with your math homework, William.” His father attempts, clearing his throat, “I was…”

William and Felicity mirror one another’s looks of disbelief.

He grimaces, “Okay, okay. I got a D in tenth grade algebra. I wouldn’t be much help.”

“Yep. I know. Felicity told me, Dad, and I’m just trying to bring my C+ up to an A. Before Ms. Davis, I’ve never gotten a C in my life.”

“You’ll do fine. Go wash your hands. Dinner’s going to be served in 10.”

“Gotcha. I’ll set the table.”

Felicity grunts, trying to lift herself into her wheelchair, “Ugh, some-sometimes. Sugar Honey Iced Tea.”

“Sugar Honey Iced Tea.” Her husband repeats, “Don’t worry, Tommy’s first word won’t be shit. He’s not even born yet.”

“Two more weeks, and my body may feel like mine. Seriously? My center of gravity is all off kilter. Help please.”

He lifts Felicity with a grunt.

“Really? With the grunt, Gorilla Grodd?”

“It’s not you. It’s Ned. He’s an asshole.”

She crosses her arms, “Well, if Ned the Nerve continues to be a nuance. I’m scheduling you an appointment with Barry’s dad, whether you like or not. You could’ve tweaked a disc doing those Roman dead lifts. Do we have an understanding?”

He pecks his lips, adopting a British accent, “But of course, my darling.”

“Cuteness will get you nowhere, Queen. Or I’m also going to tag team you with our chiropractor Jana and Henry.”

“I hear you.”

William returns, grabbing blue plates. “I got this.”

The family partakes in a few slices of turkey meatloaf, a scooped of mashed cauliflower, and green beans over a bed of egg whites with all the fixin’s.

She whispers, “Sometimes I wonder where your genes are. That boy can be all Sam.”

Though as they eat, Oliver and William belch at the same time over a respective sip of Malbec and grape juice.

“Oh,” The tech mogul giggles, “There they are.”

“Dad, is it cool with you if I go to the beach with Mom and Chris tomorrow? I know you wanted to build that model Maserati. But-"

"No, no, no have fun. I know you’ve been dying to hang out with Rudy.”

Samantha and Christopher recently adopted a Border Collie named Rudy. Coast City is nothing, but fun. The Queens and Disneys needed time to recharge their barriers. Hal offered to fly the families there with a certain green ring of his, but at this point, it’s probably not doctor recommended. The Disneys bought the vacation home right next door to the Queens. After a hearty meal, a knock at the door is heard.

Right on time. “There’s Mom. Bye. Love you, guys.”

He hugs them both, flip flops smacking against the pavement as they walk the short distance. Once the dishes are done, Oliver and Felicity retire to their bedroom. Their black Lab Lou makes himself comfortable on Oliver’s side of the bed.

Felicity teases, “Daddy’s here. But you can stay.”

“Traitors,” Her husband mutters with a shake of his head.

Lou bares his teeth in an almost mischievous grin.

“I’m kidding, Mr. Grumpy Swim Trunks. Lou, off. Go. Go onto your bed.”

The service dog listens, stretches, and jumps onto a little twin bed in the corner set up just for him.

Oliver cleans up Lou’s tiny winter coat fur balls off of his side with a dust buster. He flops onto the mattress - not even caring to remove his swim trunks and flip flops.

“Mm.” He hums, “Babe, are you as tired as I feel?”

She flicks his ear, “Hey, who’s nearly forty weeks along here?”

“Sorry, sorry.” His voice muffles into the pillows, “Wrong question.”

Waves crash right near their backyard. Moonlight’s ethereal glow cuts through what was today’s fog. It may be Fall, but California is known for its Indian Summers. The weather was unseasonably warm — perfect for their little family getaway.

His wife frowns, glancing at her knuckles, “I hate that I can’t wear my new rings right now. I had no swelling. All of sudden, Friday, my fingers look like sausages.”

“Aw, I love you and your chubby knuckles, Baby.”

Oliver proves his point by peppering her fingers with sweet smooches.

“Thank you for carrying me on the beach today. I think William and Tommy really liked it.”

He turns, propping up on his forearms. “I know they did. I did too.”

Granted, her wheelchair would most definitely sink in sand. But Oliver and Felicity always make a good team. Felicity got to lounge on the beach, watching her favorite boys and feeling one kicking away with a glass of organic cranberry juice.

“You know a part of you is going to regret wearing those green trunks by morning.”

He boops her nose, “You’re just trying to get me naked, aren’t you?”

Her husband isn’t wrong, yet Felicity will never admit it.

“Suit yourself.” She slips off her coral blouse and her denim maternity shorts. “I mean it is dangerously close to a cheesy ‘90’s boyband, but if you whine about being hot and uncomfortable.”

His swim trunks hit the carpet with a soft shuffle. Her nails rake over his scarred over his scarred, which she knows he loves all the time. Felicity’s legs tangle in sheets. She scoots back, lush ass pressing against his leg. Their mangled skin sticks together with sweat. Air has a slight hint of sea salt which combines with the pungent odor of seaweed. Though the cool breeze drifts in from their balcony door.

“Catheter,” He reminds groggily, calloused hand skimming her side.

His wife warns, “In a couple hours. Your son wants sleep.”

“Only my son, huh?” Oliver questions, squinting.

He goes to tickle her sides, but a wandering hand stops him.

“Unless you want to clean soiled sheets, don’t even think it about it, Buster.”

“Fair enough.” Oliver’s palm settles lazily over her large baby bump, soothing Tommy’s rapid movements. “Much better than those photos your mom sent to the wrong printer.”

“My love.” Felicity intones sweetly, dipping into her angry voice. “Never bring up those naked photos of my mom again. Those are meant for Quentin. Why the Hell are we talking about my mother in bed?”

Her husband smirks, kissing her scarred shoulder. “Your freak out-”

“I did _not_ freak out.”

“Your _reaction_ brought us to Coast City.”

The eighteen hour drive is worth it. Felicity needed to get out of her headspace plus they wanted to go to Bali for a babymoon. However, Ricardo Diaz rudely interrupted their previous plan. The power couple eases into slumber, staring at the pitch black sky in the skylight. Felicity snores like a drunken sailor, so Oliver whispers sweet nothings to Baby Tommy before he hits the pillow.

* * *

  _ **Felicity’s Dream**_

Trees and foliage on a bright autumn day await Felicity as she rolls along the sidewalk to Starling National park. She comes to a stop at a familar friend with an adorable redhead and German Shepard on either side.

“Felicity.” Dimples pool in his cheeks as he waits with arms wide open. “I’ve been expecting you.”

“Hey.” She says, hugging her friend as if it’s normal as any day ending in y.

They sit at a concrete table with a chess board. To her surprise, Tommy’s got some skills as he moves his knight.

Rubbing his hands together, her old friend proclaims, “Ha! Gotcha now.”

“i didn’t think you knew anything about chess, Merlyn.”  
  
He smirks, “I’m more than just a pretty face, Queenie.”

Robert and Moira arrive mid-game. They link arms after they step out of a limo, appearing simply prim and proper as ever.

“I told you the ring would go to a special gal.” Robert vouches, stroking his neatly trimmed gray goatee. “Felicity. You’re a keeper.”

“Yes, I suppose she is.” Moira agrees reluctantly.

Robert clears his throat, purposefully coughing something.

“We wanted to thank you for looking after our sweet boy all these years.”

“And for giving our Thea the sister she never had,” adds her father-in-law.

“You’re quite remarkable, Felicity.” Moira says earnestly.

Her soulmate winks, “But it’s safe to assume Oliver already knew that.”

“You’ve given such a wonderful love and an amazing family. It’s all I’ve ever wanted for my little boy.”

Robert checks his pocket watch, “We can’t stay long, my dear. We have to go.”  
  
“Wait! Oliver misses you both so much.  You have no idea what he’d give for another minute with you. I just had to tell you that.”

“Let’s hope that day won’t be for a very long time,” bids her mother-in-law.

They disappear in a literal blink.

Tommy chimes in, drawing Felicity’s attention with a finger. “I understand, but I’m always here.”  
  
Her lips purse, “What do you mean?”  
  
“Max and me.” He chuckles, glancing over at the dog and his soulmate. “The big guy asked us to be the Queen family guardians.”  
  
“What?! That’s a thing?”  
  
“It’s your dream Felicity.”  
  
The bells at the clock tower ring.  
  
Felicity frowns, “I think that’s my cue to leave, but before I go, I have one important question.”  
  
“Shoot.”  
  
“Are you happy?”  
  
He smiles at Chloe and Max, “More than you know. Hey, Felicity?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
Tommy grabs her hand, “You and Ollie are really great together. ”  
  
“Pfft, tell me something I don’t know.”  
  
“I’m so happy he found the love of his life.”  
  
The clock bells ring louder.  
  
“I’ll tell him that when I see him.”

* * *

_**Present Day** _

The clock tower muddles into an annoying buzzing alarm clock. Fingers brush through her dark wavy locks.

She groans, hiding her face under a pillow, “We’re on vacation. Who set the fracking alarm?”

“I did, sleepyhead. I’m just going out for my jog.”

“No, Hon, stay. I have something important to tell about you Tommy.”

“What? Are-are you having contractions. We have a spare hospital bag in the car. Shoes, you need shoes!”

“Hey, slow down. We’re fine. Just listen.”

Oliver sits cross-legged at the foot of the bed as Felicity recaps her entire dream with vivid detail and animated gestures.

Tears gleam in his eyes, though happiness radiates all over his face.

Her husband crosses his arms over his broad chest, “Should I be concerned you’re dreaming about my best friend - not me?"

“Really?” Her eyebrow quirks. “That’s what you took away from my story?”

“No, it sounds peaceful.”

Oliver doesn’t go out for his jog quite yet. Felicity brings up all the sex they’ve had in their Coast City vacation home over the last couple years since she fixates on the rumpled bedspread. Her husband, on the other hand, rouses with laughter at her comment. They cuddle in bed, talking about old and new memories.


	20. Ever After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt 20:** Trust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, my lovelies, it's time to bid a fond farewell to these hiatus fics of mine. As you may have noticed writing disabled Felicity is my favorite subject. But with these round of prompts, I got to explore it on a whole other level. Thank you @thebookjumper for organizing this whole thing. It's been awesome both as a writer and reader. This ending is short, but sweet. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it today.

( _Olicity edit by candykizzes24_ )

A camera clicks. Oliver and Felicity make faces at their ten week old son, trying to get him to give his signature gassy grin. The infant lays on his mother’s chest entranced by a teddy bear above a renowned photographer’s head. The new addition fits perfectly as Oliver, Felicity, and Tommy are all set up on a queen-sized bed, which is rather fitting for their family.

Annie calls out to her crew, “Okay, that’s it. We’ve got the cover shot. Thank you. Let’s get the Queen family back in wardrobe, so we can break for lunch.”

“Thank God.” Felicity huffs, kissing Tommy’s cheek, “‘Cause this little dude is about to break for lunch. Honey, up and hand me my...”

“Breast pump.” Oliver finishes, lifting his wife into her chair. “On it.”

The Queens retreat to wardrobe, hair, and makeup. Not shy in the slightest, Felicity starts pumping milk into a bottle when her hair stylist and makeup get to work. Oliver preps the burp cloth, bib, and sits with Tommy in his lap.

“Ready, buddy?” His mother prompts in a cutesy voice, “Mommy’s a human lunch truck, but you’re worth it.”

The newborn’s mouth forms a small ‘o’ before he sucks vigoriously on the bottle. Oliver and Felicity multitask by eating while Tommy does as well.

Oliver directs with a mouthful, holding half a turkey sub sandwich in front of her face, “Baby, bite please.”

“Thank you.” Felicity obliges mid-chew.

Felicity’s makeup artist Caylee interjects, glossing her lips, “I’m surprised y’all agreed to do a photo shoot.”

Her client mumble a string of inaudible words, smudging the fresh gloss.

“Come again, boss?”

Oliver translates, “ _String_ mag is better than the fracking paps making money off of us.”

“Truth.” Her wardrobe stylist Alex concurs.

Oliver burps Tommy while Charlotte helps Felicity get into their final look of the day. Oliver and Felicity swap their fashion forward all black ensembles for a respective pea green t-shirt, blue jeans, and Timberlands while his wife wears a multicolored polka dot dress, which screams Spring and some ruby red ballet flats.

Tommy gets one last belch in with some spit-up landing on the burp cloth in the nick of time. 

“Ooh, that was a good one, Tommy, you were hungry.”

They peck each cheek before handing their son off to his nanny Amira. Raisa’s niece is just as good as Oliver and Thea’s caretaker or in their eyes — practically a second mom. Granted, Oliver and Felicity are very hands-on parents who have a clear set of rules, which Amira follows to the letter. With their day and night jobs, it can be tough. But they always make time for their sons.

“We’ll be back in a bit buddy. You be good for Amira.”

Her raven curls bounce just as she does with the infant on her hip.

“Daddy and I are right outside, boo boo. Have a good nap.” Felicity coos with no desire to leave, yet her husband wheels her out on set.

“Boo boo?” He chuckles, “You sound like your-”

His wife warns, “Oliver Jonas Queen, don’t you dare go there, or you’ll be bunking with Lou tonight.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Her husband responds, smirking, “I like when you get all bossy.”

The power couple does some duo snaps before sitting down with a brunette reporter who’s also in a wheelchair named Harper LaRose. Their fingertips interlink as they discuss work, parenthood, hero life, and balancing it all.

Jotting down some notes, Harper asks, “How are you feeling?”

“Exhausted,” The tech mogul chimes in, praising her glam squad, “But thankfully we have a group of people we trust to help us look presentable for fun stuff like _String_.”

“Our son is allergic to sleep sometimes, but thankfully today’s he’s pretty chill today.”

“Thank God, because I was starting to think Tommy’s nocturnal.”

Harper offers a kind smile, “And what do you remember most about that day?”

Happy tears gleam in Oliver’s eyes, “Everything.”

* * *

_**December 12th, 2018** _

Oliver paces the tiled floor — anything to get his off those irregular vitals. Felicity’s blood pressure seems high and her heart monitor sounds like it’s beeping as fast as a jackrabbit. At that’s how Oliver sees it. Tommy kicks when a nurse straps a baby heart monitor around Felicity’s belly.

“Honey… My Love… Oliver, look at me.” His wife directs, “I’m fine. We’re fine.”

The red nose and watery eyes say otherwise.

“Then why are you crying, Hon?”

She sniffles, “I’m just so fracking happy, we get to meet our little boy today.”

“You-you’re sure you’re not in any pain. What if it’s AD (Autonomic dysreflexia)?”

“Of course, I’m in pain. We’re about to have a baby, Oliver.”

“Stupid question, I know.” He whispers, “I love you.”

Her PT Paul, who also works as a part-time midwife wheels her in the OR.

“Love you.” The brunette sniffles, “See you in there soon.”

Unfortunately, Oliver can’t be in the operating room while Felicity’s team administers pain medication, which is difficult. Because he knows how much his lady’s face runs pale at the sight of a needle. However, Dr. Rivera made herself clear that they need a sterile environment. Oliver strips out of his sweats for scrubs.

Donna eyes him up and down, “My kid is one lucky girl.”

Oliver’s cheeks flush at his mother-in-law’s comment.

“Geez, did I just say that out loud?”

“Yeah.” Her son-in-law confirms, slapping on some blue gloves, “Let’s never speak of that again.”

“Good call. Just go get me back a grandson and a happy healthy baby girl. Okay?”

He nods.

Oliver makes his way to the operating room as if it’s the organic produce aisle at the supermarket. Seriously? The Queen family has been in and out of Starling General so much, they deserve their own private suite.

“H-honey, how’s my mom? Is she okay?”

“Yeah, of course. Are you? Paul, what’s going on?”

“I’m alright. Just hormones. Gosh, I never cried so much in nine months and now I’m a huge mess.”

“It’s okay. Today’s a big day.”

Dr. Rivera peers over the drape after her abdomen is numb and coated in antiseptic.

She reminds, “You’re going to feel a lot of pressure. Okay, Felicity?”

Her patient understands. It starts off alright, but the pressure feels immense as the doctor goes deeper.

“Ooh,” She winces.

Oliver instructs, “Squeeze my hand, Baby. I gotcha.”

“Mine too.” Paul insists, wiping sweat off her brow.

The medical team vacuums excess fluid when the doctor finally breaks the amniotic sac. 

“Alright.” Dr. Rivera warns, “It looks he’s turned a little differently than we expected.”

“What?!” Felicity’s eyes widen, “Well, is he okay? Get him out now!”

“Stay calm, Mrs. Queen.” Her OBGYN advises, “You’re going to feel some more pressure, tugging and pulling.”

His gloved fingertips graze the bridge, “Trust me. He’s going to be fine, Honey. Just a few more minutes and he’s out.”

The tugging and pulling at under her stomach is muted, but still there. Felicity grits her teeth, grunting from the pain.

“Felicity, please.” Paul whimpers.

She snaps, “What?”

She grips their hands tighter.

Felicity grits, “Ah, I’m squeezing him tighter than you.”

With a soft coo, Dr. Rivera pulls Baby Tommy out of the womb.

Lifting the newborn over the drape, Dr. Rivera smiles under her mask, Say hi mama!”

“Oh, he’s here.” His mother cries. “But why isn’t he crying?”

For a few seconds, the infant blinks as if he’s looking at the room before he emits a wail of a strong cry.

Oliver points out “Tommy’s curious. Just like his mama.”

“Mm-hm.”

The doctor inquires, “Daddy, you want to cut the umbilical cord?”

“Yes.”

Oliver steps up, and with one wet loud snip, a nurse takes over to check the infant’s vitals. He’s the spitting image of his mother - even with her natural dark hair. He weighs in at seven pounds two ounces and twenty inches. Dr. Rivera closes Felicity up with some dissolvable stitches.

It feels like the C-Section takes forever, but from pain meds to closing, it clocks in at under one hour.

Felicity gulps, tears of joy balled in her throat, “I have to hold him right now.”

A nurse walks over, placing Tommy on her chest. Paul snaps photos on Oliver’s cellphone.

“Mommy, look up.” Paul says, taking a tired but happy picture. “Perfect.”

Forty-five minutes later, Thea rushes with a balloon bouquet and her wife nearly tripping over her stiletto boots. Tommy receives another check of his measurements and vitals before he’s briefly placed into the hospital nursery.

“Where is he?” Thea pants, “Where’s my nephew?”

Her brother whispers, “Right there.”

“Ooh.” Donna squeals, smacking Oliver’s arm repeatedly, “He’s scrumptious. And Tommy looks exactly like Felicity.”

Tommy truly is their late Hanukkah/early Christmas gift. This summer vacation has a beautiful ending, yet it’s only the start to their beautiful journey.

* * *

_**Two Years Later** _

Oliver and Felicity finally manage to get their toddler to hit the hay. The couple gets a rare quiet moment to themselves, so what else do they plan, but to kick each other’s behinds in Scrabble.

“Hmm…. Let me see if diss violates the Scrabble rule.” Felicity hopes as her man lays his last four tiles on the board.

His eyes narrow at her, “Diss is an actual word, Babe. For example, I can diss Bruce whenever I want since he has no shame in checking you out at Queen BioMed events.”

“Fine.” She sighs, thinking quickly, “Ha! You gave me an opening Zip. I win.”

His lips tick up in a soft smile, “Fair enough, but I would’ve given a massage anyway? How’s our baby girl doing-”

Felicity places a finger over his mouth.

“Zip your lips because I have something important to tell you.”

He feigns a gasp, “You’re pregnant again. I know. I was there when you peed on the test.”

“Not that. Thea and Mackenzie got approved. They’re adopting a little girl named Lily from Central City.”

“Really?”

Felicity bobs her head, glee radiating all over her face.

“Mama.” A tiny voice pops up, and he waltzes into his parents’ bedroom like he owns the place. “I want milk please.”

“Hot milk?”

Tommy’s beautiful mess of dark waves bounce as he agrees.

William’s bare feet pad the floor. “Sorry, I tried to stop the little guy. He’s getting as fast as Uncle Barry.”

“Nuh-uh, faster.”

Oliver grins brightly at his boys, “Okay, I guess it’s a party. You two stay with Mom, and I’ll get the milk. But when it’s all gone. Guess what?”

“Bedtime.” Tommy knows the drill.

“Uh-huh.”

Tommy’s fast asleep before his daddy returns with a warm cup of milk. William and Felicity rest side by side watching funny cat videos with a shared pair of wireless earbuds.

Felicity prods, “Who knew cats make such good DJs?”

“Trust me, people have too much time on their hands.”

“Hey.” Oliver speaks softly, stepping around Felicity’s wheelchair, “Got any room for me?”

“Always.” promises his wife.

Happily ever afters are only in fairytales, but Oliver imagines this - family time - is pretty damn close.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry, if my formatting is off, my laptop has gone to Tech Village Heaven in the sky, so stories are written on my phone and tablet.  
> Reviews and Kudos are appreciated.  
> Say hey, and please let me know what you think in the comments.  
> Tumblr: [DMichelleWrites](http://dmichellewrites.tumblr.com/)  
> Twitter: [@dmichelleca](https://twitter.com/dmichelleca)


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